


Ingenious Devices

by Kandakicksass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Insanity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-27
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kandakicksass/pseuds/Kandakicksass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Green, the center of his world. But never the right green, not the beautiful emerald he'd spent years memorizing as discretely as he could. He thought he'd never see that green again, until a few mumbled words lead his healer to the one person who can save him from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"He's lost his mind. He's mad—stark, raving mad."

Healer Thompson didn't say anything. The apprentice who had spoken—a girl fresh out of Beauxbatons with vivid red hair and dark brown eyes—stood with her nose pressed to the glass, getting the best view possible of the patient, and Healer Thompson frowned. He knew it was one-way glass, and he knew that the patient wouldn't likely care if he was being watched either way, but it upset him that the girl was so inconsiderate. His mind was gone, yes, but that didn't make him a freak show attraction.

He watched with a grimace as the patient mumbled something, pink lips moving to quickly for anyone to catch what he was saying, if it was indeed English—it could very well be gibberish. He'd said very few words since he'd arrived—wand, for one. Wand, green—he greatly disliked green.

He edited the thought as he watched the patient roll on his bed slightly. He didn't strictly dislike green—it was more like he was _frightened_ of it. Or in awe. So many emotions would flicker through those glazed eyes whenever he saw the color that he couldn't place them all. All Healer Thompson knew was to keep it away from him.

" _Eew_ ," the apprentice whined, making a face. "He's _drooling_! How creepy is that?" Healer Thompson was quite sick of the contempt in her accent, light for most native to France.

"Yvette," he murmured, putting a firm hand on her shoulder. "Think about it. You must look on them with compassion if you ever want to make it in this field. He's not trying. He's likely not even thinking at the moment."

"So that gives him an excuse to be gross?" she continued. "Personally, if I were in his situation, _I_ would want to be as dignified as possible. If I were mad, I'd at least want to look my best." Healer Thompson sighed. The apprentice really wasn't getting the point, and he was starting to think she would be better suited for a fashion magazine.

"He's _mad_ ," the healer reminded her. "His thought processes don't go that far."

"Well, I hope you can fix him," she sniffed, turning her nose up. "He's kind of cute, after all. I'm sure he's a looker all dressed up." Healer Thompson rubbed the bridge of his nose, relieved when she stopped talking.

"You can't fix patients," he said after a lengthy silence filled only by watching the patient with hawk-like gazes, missing nothing. "You can only help them find themselves again. And obviously, we're not having any luck with this one."

"Well, find someone who can help him. Isn't that what you normally do? Boyfriend, girlfriend, sister, whatever?" she asked, looking up at him. He nodded, crossing his arms as he thought.

"We've tried his fiancé—it seems, according to her, that he's been distant for the past two years and they haven't really talked. Busy. Likely with the whole 'dark lord' business," he mused. "He's an only child, and his school friends are a little… uncomfortable with seeing him like this."

"Isn't there anyone else?" she asked. "Parents? I don't know, an enemy or something? He flips out when he sees green—especially when he saw that one girl's—what's her name, Latvia?—eyes. Maybe it's someone with green eyes. He _really_ doesn't like green eyes."

Healer Thompson looked at her in surprise. "I can't believe I never made that connection… good job, Yvette!" He thought harder. "And wands…" He looked to her for help; he was starting to think he'd finally found something she was good at. Her attention to small details might help her case when it came to writing her report for her degree.

"I don't know—someone took his, didn't they?" she shrugged. "Explains why we didn't have to confiscate it when he was admitted. Hey—Healer T! Where are you going?"

His mind reeled as he took off for his office. He couldn't believe he'd looked over it—the strong reaction he'd had to Lavina's eyes (trust Yvette to not even know her co-workers names) had been the biggest response they'd had to anything. The patient grabbed her head with both hands and pulled her down to his eye level. Healer Thompson could still remember how he'd searched the confused girl's eyes before he'd pushed her away with a shriek, mumbling 'wrong', over and over again like a mantra.

And the wand! How had he not thought about that? There was only one person he could connect both of those things to. He burst into his office, slamming the door shut behind him in his haste to get to the phone. He picked it up, jabbing the buttons as quickly as he could. Everyone knew the number (he was surprised that it hadn't been changed; the man probably got more calls than he knew what to do with) for emergencies, which even Healer Thompson thought was ridiculous. After all, he was only one man, but it did help the public feel safer.

"Hello?"

The voice was pleasant and female. The secretary he'd been forced to get. He had a private phone of course, and this one was dealt with by an assistant, with only the important calls getting transferred to _him_.

"I need to speak with your employer," he said after a quick moment of thought.

"Of course. Name?"

"My name is Reginald Thompson, and I'm a healer at the psychology campus—" He'd rather say 'sanitarium', but very few reacted pleasantly to it. "—of St. Mungo's. I'm afraid my business is confidential, but rather important."

"I'll put you through immediately. Please wait a moment, sir." There was a dial tone, and then a click.

He could hear breathing, and a friendly greeting. This voice was calm and familiar—everyone who called themselves wizards had heard it only a thousand times. Healer Thompson took a deep breath.

"Mr. Potter? There's something I'd like to talk to you concerning a patient of mine, Draco Malfoy."


	2. Chapter 1

Harry followed Healer Thompson down the hall in an unfamiliar white building. He'd been ultimately shocked and a little disturbed when he'd first received the call from the man walking briskly in front of him. He wasn't going to lie; the news had been a surprise. He wasn't going to lie and say it didn't upset him to hear what had become of Malfoy.

He'd always wondered what had happened to him. He could remember Malfoy being a steady part of his life, never failing to come through. During sixth year, Harry almost looked _forward_ to the small fights between them, though they came fewer and fewer as the year wore on.

He'd never forgotten Malfoy, even during the last battle, he'd remembered hoping Malfoy was safe. He'd been through a lot and even though he and Harry had never gotten on well, he for some reason thought of Malfoy in the same category as his friends, the people he didn't want hurt. The blonde was an important part of his life, and he'd hoped that if he survived the last battle, Malfoy would still be around to remind him that not everything changed.

How unpleasantly surprised he was to discover that after that night, Malfoy had disappeared off the face of the planet. There were no gossip columns about him—a word or two about Lucius, a mention of Narcissa, but that was it. He asked Hermione and Ron, who were happily married with their first child on the way, if they'd heard anything about him every few months when he came to mind, and they always responded with a negative.

Healer Thompson stopped at a door, tapping the door handle with his wand. It glowed a dull shade of green, opening. Healer Thompson gestured for Harry to follow him into the small room that looked like an antechamber with one wall completely covered with glass and a girl, likely an assistant, in the corner watching whatever lay beyond the glass quietly.

Harry knew intellectually that it was likely one-way glass, but he still felt intrusive. He didn't look up from the floor immediately, putting off what he was almost sure he didn't want to see. He didn't even know why he'd agreed to come—hadn't he done enough saving?

But his life had been dull the past two years, almost empty. He had nothing to do, despite his prestigious job—he was an honorary auror with the main purpose of being a secret weapon were another war of sorts to break out. He stopped by the ministry every now and again, made sure there were no threats, and left when nothing came up. It was Harry's opinion that he was being paid (quite handsomely) for doing nothing. When he could, he snuck in and grabbed a normal assignment, doing the job he'd trained for, but the minister of magic—a short, portly man named Quigley—would normally find him and pull him aside for "a spot of tea", which basically told him not to put himself in harm's way in case they needed him.

"I know his appearance is a bit of a shock, since you two were close, but you shouldn't turn away from him," Healer Thompson said after a few moments.

Harry looked at him with a small smile. "We weren't friends, if that's what you're thinking, sir. We were almost arch enemies." He laughed dryly at the thought. "But it kills me to even think about…" He cleared his throat.

"You should look at him," Healer Thompson said gently, laying a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "If you want to help him, look at him."

He did.

His first thought was that indeed, Draco Malfoy hadn't changed much since he'd last seen him (he was still as good looking as ever, blast it all; he was hoping his hairline would have at least receded or something), but upon closer inspection, he could tell that there were more changes to Malfoy's aristocratic face than you could see with one glance.

He sat on his bed, his back pressed against the wall, sitting with his limbs splayed out. There was a far off look in his silver-grey eyes, normally stormy with the passion that Harry had come to expect in his time knowing him. Malfoy was passionate about everything he did, whether it was fighting or test-taking (he had watched him score through many a test when he thought he had the answer wrong multiple times). He tried to come off as a cold, heartless bastard, but Harry knew that it wasn't really _him_.

His hair had grown almost to his chin, framing his high cheekbones like silk. Even though he thought his hair was still pretty, it was uncharacteristically messy, like he'd made no attempt to style it in the least, which was unlike him. He was clawing at the sheets slightly and even if his face held no frustration or emotion other than what someone day dreaming might have, Harry could almost _feel_ anxiety rolling off of him in waves.

"Is he always like this?" he asked quietly and Healer Thompson shook his head. He was a fairly good looking man, Harry supposed, with dark brown hair that had a slight wave to it, a chiseled jaw, and determined blue—almost violet—eyes. He looked… trustworthy—more so than the apprentice that had followed Harry around with star struck eyes before Healer Thompson had waved her off.

"Today, he's agitated for some reason," the healer answered absently, a hand light on the glass as they watched Malfoy clench his fists slightly before loosening them and clenching them again. "Normally, he seems much more empty. Sometimes he just lays there and smiles, even though you can tell he's not there, not really. His eyes are the deciding factor on his mood, really."

"What do you know about his mood at the moment?" Harry asked, imitating the healer and placing a palm on the glass. It was cold and Harry wondered if the room Malfoy was in was cold as well.

"Well, look at his eyes. How do they look?"

Harry examined him as well as he could and answered hesitatingly, "Like he's imagining, or remembering something." He paused, then added softly, "Something he doesn't like at all." The healer nodded.

"And there you have it," he said with a quirky, exhausted smile. "Not as hard as it looks."

Harry nodded as another thought came to him. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking, why me?" Healer Thompson looked up at him in surprise. "Why do you think it's me? It could be Astoria, couldn't it? I hear her eyes are green. And who knows what he means by _wand_. Maybe he just wants his back."

Healer Thompson smiled slightly. "Miss Greengrass has been by. Draco smiled at her once, but that was about it. He seems to recognize her when he didn't any of his school friends, but he did the same thing to her that he did to everyone else who came in with green eyes."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He had to feel a bit skeptical—they were basing this whole conclusion on the color of his _eyes_ , of course he was skeptical. "I'm sure it means something, but surely not _me—_ "

"Poppy," he called to the assistant in the corner, fiddling nervously with the hem of her shirt. "Do what I asked you to, please." She nodded and tapped her own wand on the door to Malfoy's room. She walked in. "Here is what happens whenever he sees the color green. He reacts stronger when he sees green eyes than anything, however."

Poppy walked in, saying something to Malfoy with a faux cheerful smile, who appeared to be ignoring her. Harry noticed there was a small hole in the wall that he'd seen before which was used to project sound from one room to another through a wand.

"Watch him closely when he notices her eyes," Healer Thompson said softly, watching with his sharp eyes. "Poppy hasn't been in to see him before, as we've noticed he doesn't react the same twice once he's already examined one. He has surprisingly clear recall when it comes to people, even if he doesn't speak to them." Harry did as he was told, surprise through him when Malfoy twitched to life, his eyes locking on hers.

Without even opening his mouth, he nearly lunged upward. Poppy looked like she knew what was going to happen and held still while he grabbed her face, pulling her close to him. His eyes searched hers and while he did that, Healer Thompson slid his wand into the hole with a grimace and they waited. After a moment, Malfoy pushed her away and began mumbling.

Shock hit Harry hard when he heard Malfoy's ramblings and he felt almost sick at the realization of what had become of his childhood rival. His hoarse voice sounded tortured, anguished—almost panicky.

"Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong. Wrong, wrong…" Malfoy looked up at the ceiling, his expression clear of any emotion, but he was banging his head on the wall slightly, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to make a low thump every time he did.

"You see?" Harry nodded. "If he rejects you as well, then I promise, we won't bother you again unless you're directly necessary, but it never hurts to try." He nodded again. "You're free to refuse, Mr. Potter."

He smiled as calmly as he could. "No, I want to help. He's still a person… and it's not like I ever hated him. If I can help… I'll help." He still sounded a little unsure, but determined. This was Malfoy, he reminded himself. The same proud teenager who had been burdened with too much too soon. He was like Harry in that regard and even though he was a bit of a coward, he was smart, and powerful. He would have been destined for good things, Harry knew that. He would have been a scholar, or worked in potions because he was just as good as Hermione at them. Ultimately, Malfoy was a good person. Harry honestly believed that.

Healer Thompson nodded, smiling with relief that he'd agreed, and tapped the doorknob. Harry took a deep breath as it opened and walked inside, his eyes immediately following the cream-colored walls to the man still banging his head against the wall softly. He walked over gingerly, as if he were afraid the carpet would bite him, and knelt down in front of the bed, resting his arms on the quilt he recognized as being from Narcissa—he had a similar one in his own apartment which had been a birthday present.

He and Narcissa had formed a sort of friendship after the war, based on gratitude. He thanked her for his life, and she thanked him for his part in ending the terror, and helping her save her son, in a way. Narcissa would never tell him where Malfoy was, and seeing him now, he could see why.

"Malfoy," he said quietly, then coughed slightly, looking up at him. He wasn't sure how it was going to go over, but he laid a hand (gently, he hoped, but he didn't feel like he was in full control of himself at the moment) on Malfoy's knee. The touch brought him back and the blonde looked down at the hand on his knee, knuckles scarred, nails short but clean, and then up at the owner.

Silent recognition flashed across his face before Harry was attacked in the same way Poppy had been—he took the sides of Harry's face in his hands and pulled him up, almost onto the bed entirely. Harry had never been so close to him before, but he could see now that Malfoy's eyes were kind of pretty, like his hair—grey with small flecks of blue, which he realized were what made his eyes look silver in the right light. They searched his before he pushed Harry away and he wasn't sure whether he was relieved he'd been rejected or upset, but in the end it didn't matter because he was pulled fully onto the bed and he had two pale, lily-white hands gripping at the collar of his shirt. He realized he wasn't being rejected at all—Malfoy had been readjusting himself so that he could grip Harry better.

"You," he breathed and Harry was so stunned he couldn't speak. "It's you—you, you!" His voice was edging up through several octaves before coming out as a faint squeak. He saw tears filling those startling eyes and brought his hands up to gently take hold of Malfoy's upper arms. Harry situated himself into a sitting position.

"Me," he croaked and cleared his throat. "Me. Malfoy, are you…?" He felt silly asking if he was okay, but Harry had the idea he wouldn't have answered even if he'd finished the question because he dropped his hands, releasing Harry's shirt, and leaned forward, his forehead resting on Harry's shoulder, who wasn't quite sure what to do.

"It's you," he said simply. "Knew you wouldn't leave me here. Help me, Potter." He pulled back, giving him a look with his eyes bright. He sounded almost lucid for a moment when he said that, but he began babbling again, winding his arms around Harry loosely, surprising him further. "Knew you'd save me. Save me, save me…"

"M-Malfoy," he managed. "What do you mean?" He pulled back yet again and smiled at him, brilliantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Healer Thompson standing in the doorway with a shocked expression.

"You're going to save me," he said in a way that enforced Harry's idea that Malfoy had complete faith in Harry's "savior" abilities. "You save everyone, Potter. Harry." He frowned. "You let _them_ call you Harry… we don't have to fight anymore… I can call you Harry!" He went from telling Harry that he was going to save him to begging him. "We don't have to fight, P—Harry! Please!"

Harry was at a loss for what to do, but he stroked Malfoy's hair in a way that seemed desperate, even to him. "We don't have to fight, Malfoy." Malfoy shook his head furiously, panic in his eyes.

"Harry, Harry, Harry!" He continued repeating his given name over and over again, confusing the boy-who-lived. Why would Malfoy just keep repeating his name? Did he want Harry to say his name, too? Harry blinked when it hit him. _Harry_ —it was his first name! He'd been calling him Malfoy!

"Draco?" That smile broke through again and a blonde head was buried in his chest at once, still mumbling things about Harry helping him, saving him—once, he mumbled _redeem me_.

"Did you two call each other by your last names in school?" Healer Thompson asked after a few moments filled by Malfoy's half-minded ramblings. Harry nodded. "I suppose that explains it then. He's probably thinking that your friends called you 'Harry', and that if he wants you to help him, he has to be your friend, therefore, he has to call you Harry."

Harry nodded, still a little taken aback from the shock of Draco's state. Healer Thomson gestured toward the blonde and Harry took the initiative and rubbed his back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture and Healer Thompson nodded. Soon enough, Draco's words slurred and stopped. He slumped against Harry, having fallen asleep. Harry continued to hold him, figuring that he was probably still close enough to consciousness that any jostling would wake him.

"What happened to him?" he asked, still sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking Malfoy's hair. He couldn't help but feel a surge of _purpose_ well within him that he hadn't felt in a very long time. After the war, the feeling of being needed had disappeared, leaving him rather empty. Having something to protect, something to nurture… it felt like his entire life's work, and he would be lying if he didn't feel like Malfoy— _Draco_ was now his purpose.

"His mind snapped," Healer Thompson replied, watching Harry's hand move over Draco's hair. "The board think it was the stress of everything—suffering through the ministry's decisions, even though they were pardoned in the end… but I think differently."

"What do you think?" he asked softly and Healer Thompson sighed.

"I think it was going home, seeing that nothing had changed but that everything had. The Malfoy manor was still beautiful, still just as lovely as before, but we tried taking him back once and he kept saying 'wrong', over again. He wouldn't go inside. I think that it was feeling that everything he'd grown up with was tainted with he-who-must-not-be-named and feeling that nowhere was safe, that he was still around in everything he had touched." Healer Thompson shrugged, but he looked disturbed just thinking about it.

Then he looked up at Harry, who blinked at the serious look he was being given. "Mr. Potter, if you think this will be easy, it won't. I hate to say this, but if you truly want to help him, he will have to be your priority." Harry nodded; he'd already figured that. "He's looking at you like you're his salvation," Healer Thompson continued. "Chances are, he'll be possessive and clingy, for lack of a better term. He hasn't spoken as much to anyone else, in so short a period of time. At the moment, it appears like you're the very center of his world. If you're committed to this, I suggest you really think about that. Your social life will be limited, and you'll have to spend a lot of time here."

"What about when the real Malfoy returns?" he questioned. "What then?" Healer Thompson winced, like the question wasn't one he liked answering. Harry had a bad feeling.

"The old Draco is gone," he answered softly. "What is left here is all there is. His personality will likely never be the same, even if you help him break through and start functioning as a normal person again. He'll be starting from scratch. Which is why I need you to realize who difficult this task will be, and long-term…"

He nodded, interrupting gently. "Healer Thompson—"

He smiled wryly. "Call me Reggie." He nodded.

"Reggie… for my last few years at Hogwarts, Mal—Draco, he was my stability. I had my friends, of course, but Draco was the one thing that didn't change. We fought, he teased me, I teased him. During sixth year, of course, it was a little different because he was caught in the crossfire of everything…" He hadn't been able to get the image of him crying out of his mind for weeks, nor of him struggling to breathe, whimpering in pain from _sectumsempra_. "But he was still there. I could count on him. In a way, he supported me throughout the whole thing." He smiled as well, down at the skinny blonde who had taken a hold of his arm in his sleep. He looked up at the healer determinedly. "I want to be there for him."

"Let me be frank, Mr. Potter," he sighed. "Just so you understand quite clearly. You won't have very much time for friends or anyone else - chances are, you won't have time for a girlfriend," Healer Thompson repeated, as if that fact deserved emphasis. Harry laughed.

"Not a problem," he chuckled. "I'm gay, so I don't really want one." Healer Thompson laughed with him, getting the joke and taking it for how Harry meant it. Without so many words, he completely understood.

"So you're sure about this?" he asked when their laughter had subsided. Harry nodded, fully aware that his choice would probably change his life.

"I'm sure."


	3. Chapter 2

"You're… what?"

Hermione Granger-Weasley sat in front of him with a dumbfounded expression, but she quickly schooled her features into careful confusion. She'd grown up considerably since the war and was a now a rather high-society woman who dressed well and was known for her wonderful charity work. Her wild mess of hair had tamed itself into neat curls (which Harry secretly suspected being the result of a very handy spell) to fit her personality over the years.

Still a know-it-all, Hermione was stubborn and strong-willed, but overall, she was a very warm person as she'd always been. Her husband was an auror, surprisingly, and a good one, which had shocked both his wife and his best mate. His job paid well and their family, about to grow larger in four months, was rather well off. Harry thought it would be rude to say out loud, but wealth suited Hermione better than he'd thought it would.

Ron Weasley hadn't matured that much since high school, Harry admitted as the redhead's face turned the color of his hair and his lips sealed tightly in a way that kind of reminded Harry of Professor _McGonagall_. He looked like he was going to start yelling, or start puking slugs. It would be appropriate, considering what Harry had just admitted to doing with his free time.

"Malfoy?" Hermione repeated weakly. "Harry, do you really think that's… wise?" He rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help being a little angry at her. Had he not explained properly?

"He's not the same Malfoy you knew," Harry answered absently. "He's changed." Damn right he changed, though the brunette didn't think it counted as changing as a person because he'd kind of lost his mind.

"Changed?" Ron said at last, his voice high and rather squeaky, like he was forcing himself to speak. "Changed? What, is he dancing around singing the Gryffindor nation anthem now, is he?" Harry sighed. Somehow, he'd known Ron would react like this.

"First off, you know just as well as I do that there is no such thing as the Gryffindor national anthem," he snorted. "And second off, if you weren't listening the first time, _he's mad_. As in, locked in a white room, mad." Well, the room was kind of tan-colored, but that was beside the point.

"And you're suddenly a bloody volunteer at the hospital?" Ron asked incredulously. "Why are _you_ , Harry bloody Potter, helping the ferret?"

"Because the ferret needs my help," he answered as calmly as he could. "He doesn't react as strongly to anyone but me. He's a simple, honest thing now. He's… almost like a child. The healer told me that if we can get him thinking like a normal person again, we'll be building his personality from scratch. He'll never be the same Malfoy again."

"Are you sure about that, mate? I mean, this is _Malfoy_. Who knows, maybe hell knows no cage for that nastiness. I'm sure it'll find its way to the light sooner or later." Harry outright glared at his friend, frowning deeply.

"Ron, school's over," he said, struggling to control his temper. "And the whole anti-Malfoy thing has gotten old. He's not the git he used to be anymore. And before you argue it, he was never evil in the first place, and he certainly isn't now."

"Not evil," Ron started, but Hermione laid a hand on his arm in warning.

"I think Harry's right," she said at last. "He's more than right. We should have gotten over it awhile ago. I'm already on good terms with his parents, so I see no reason why I couldn't be on good terms with him, too."

"His parents!" Harry winced; he hadn't realized Ron didn't know Hermione frequently held charity banquets (which Harry also attended) that Lucius and his wife made appearances at. "You're friends with the bloody death eater extraordinaire and his whore?" Harry knew that Ron was saying it out of shock, and anger, because surely Ron knew that Narcissa was anything but a whore, but it didn't stop the anger from boiling inside of him.

"Ron!" Ron went white, leaning away from the wand at his throat. "You're my best mate, Ron, but if you say anything about Lucius and Narcissa, I'll have to hex you. You know as well as I do Narcissa saved my life. I can't account for Lucius, but there has to be something good in him because Narcissa still loves him. So watch your mouth."

Ron's mouth closed and he looked to Hermione, but she just gave him _the look_. She would agree with Harry if she was asked and he knew it. Harry didn't want it to come to that. These were his closest friends, which was why he'd decided to tell them in the first place. They deserved to know about Draco, who would apparently become the main priority in his life.

The past week had been nothing less than a whirlwind. No, he'd done nothing particularly exciting, but emotionally, he'd never had a more satisfying week. He visited Draco daily, arriving early in the morning and leaving around dinner time. Sometimes they would play games, sometimes Harry would listen to him babble in that carefree way of his, but no matter what they did, Harry always enjoyed himself. Once or twice, they'd wound up in bed and Harry had just laid there with the blonde curled on his chest as Harry stroked his hair, which he really appeared to enjoy. He was a touch-feeling, it seemed.

However, it also appeared that Draco _was_ possessive, like his healer had said. Incredibly so, actually. Healer Thompson, bless his soul, had laid a hand on Harry's shoulder on Wednesday, in a strictly comforting sense after Draco'd had a small fit that had worried him, and Draco had lashed out rather violently. He'd practically flown across the room and ripped the hand away from Harry before pulling the dumbstruck brunette to the bed and wrapping all four of his limbs around him. He could remember the blonde growling at the healer softly. He wasn't sure if it upset him or not, actually, to see him reduced to those primal instincts.

"So what you're saying is, you're baby-sitting Malfoy all day," Ron said in a voice that suggested it was difficult to keep steady.

"If you want to look at it like that, sure," Harry allowed. "But here's the way I see it. He's helpless. Like a child. I don't give a damn if you won't believe that, but he is. I'm not going to leave him there to grow old, not when he specifically asked me to save him. Begged, really." His green eyes gleamed and Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Do I have to prove it to you?"

Hermione spoke up at once, crying out like she was almost scared, at the same time that Ron contradicted her.

"Yes, Harry," he said in a hard voice. "I want proof. I want to see him with my own eyes." The brunette had known he would say that, and he smirked in satisfaction. He knew his friend, knew that the only way the redhead would believe him would be if he watched Draco the same way Harry had over the last week.

"You sure about that?" Harry asked in a peculiar voice. "You would have to decent to him, if you spoke to him at all. If you upset him, I would wring your neck." He wanted Ron to agree, but not at the cost of Draco going berserk.

Ron nodded jerkily and fifteen minutes and a phone call later, the three of them had apparrated halfway across London.

He knew that it wasn't the best thing for his friendship with Ron, knew that with more fire than anything else. Ron had been testy with him since he'd cut things off with Ginny—who had turned out to be a passionate auror, and a damn good one at that. They still spoke, were still good friends, and Harry was a little annoyed at Ron for his grudge, but the Weasley was still his best mate, and damned if he'd let anything come between them… including Draco.

"Thank you for this, Healer," he said respectfully as Healer Thompson led them to the blonde's room. "I really appreciate it."

"I suppose we owe you, just a bit," Healer Thompson said with a wink and Harry laughed, tapping his wand on the door as they stopped in front of it. Due to Harry's regular visiting, the healer had keyed him into the wards, allowing him to enter Draco's room and Draco's room only.

"Ron, Hermione, would you please just stay here?" Harry requested as they all filed into the antechamber with the healer in the back, locking the door behind them. The two Weasley's nodded, Hermione's expression open and interested, Ron's hard as stone. Harry opened the door and walked into the well-lit bedroom slipping his shoes off and padding on the carpet to the bed where the blonde lay, coloring a well-drawn sketch of a snitch, humming to himself.

According to Healer Thompson, Draco hadn't been in such a good mood in a _very_ long time. Several months at least, he recalled. The healer looked rather excited that Draco's moods were lighter, stabilizing just a bit more.

"Good morning, Draco," he greeted him, kneeling down to the bed with a smile. "Is that a new sketch, or are you coloring an old one?" Draco looked up at him with an almost blinding smile, tucked white-blonde hair behind his ear and leaned over to nuzzle Harry's temple with his nose.

"Good morning, Harry," he returned after almost a full minute of nuzzling. "It's new, actually. I saw the seeker bracelet you wore that your friend Hermione bought you, and I wanted to draw a snitch." He breathed in with a smile. "I miss snitches. Will you bring me one?"

"Maybe for your birthday," Harry chuckled. "Only a month away."

"June fifth," he said happily, nodding. He looked down to continue coloring with a golden marker likely special-ordered. The ink itself looked magical, a shimmering assortment of bronze and gold. "I'm excited. Mother says she'll bring me something special. Will you bring me something special, Harry?"

"I just said I'd bring you a snitch," he snorted incredulously and Draco laughed (honestly, he wished he'd known Draco could laugh like that beforehand; it was a lovely sound, almost childlike). Harry didn't last long before he gave in and chuckled with him. "But yes, I'll bring you something else as well." Draco grinned and finished the last bit of the snitch before proudly presenting it to Harry.

"Look in the corner," Draco instructed, pointing to the low right. He did and almost immediately burst out laughing, surprised to find a comical-looking teenage Potter chasing the ball in full Quidditch garb, making a rather amusing face.

"Thank you, Draco," he chuckled. "I'll hang it over my bed." Draco nodded, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper from the top of the desk next to his bed and began drawing something else. "Draco, can I talk to you for a moment?" The blonde set his pencil aside, nodding and sitting upright with an eager expression.

"What about, Harry?" he asked.

Harry thought hard about how he wanted to do this because this here would be the tricky part. "I have a couple friends, Draco, who would like to see you. They promise to be very nice, and they're good people."

"Why do they want to see me?" he asked, cocking his head, but Harry could see the slight storm in his mercury-colored eyes. Draco was putting two and two together and Harry wasn't going to lie to him.

"Draco," he said softly, taking the blonde's hand and stroking the back of it softly. "Draco, I wouldn't let anyone hurt you or say bad things to you. They are very good friends of mine, and they want to make sure it's okay for me to be here with you." He winced as he saw Draco's thunderstruck expression; that really wasn't the best way he could have put that.

"Why wouldn't it be okay for you to be here?" he asked, his voice thick with worry, and—oh, Merlin— _hurt_.

"It is okay," he said quickly. "It's perfectly fine! My friends just want to see for themselves! It's okay! It'll be fine, I promise!" He hated himself for panicking; it was the number one thing Healer Thompson was trying to impress upon him—panicking didn't help anything.

"Okay," Draco said after a few seconds. His expression was thoughtful, his voice musing. "I think that's okay then. They can come in. Will you bring them in, Harry?" He nodded and smiled, stroking Draco's hair in the way he knew the blonde liked.

He turned, nodding toward the mirror, knowing the two behind it would get the idea. He looked back at Draco, listening intently for the click of the door.

"Hello, Malfoy," Hermione's voice said hesitantly. Draco looked up at the brunette, for the moment ignoring the redhead at her side, and smiled.

"You're Hermione," he said in a dreamy voice. "Harry showed me a picture. Lots of pictures." Hermione cocked her head in confusion. "You're Harry's best friend. You are, yes." He laughed to himself and Harry smiled fondly, shifting to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

"What do you mean, Malfoy?" she asked, stepping forward despite the hand on her shoulder trying to pull her back to no avail. "We've known each other for a very long time, Malfoy."

"Draco," he said, shaking a finger at her. "My name is Draco." He then looked to Harry to explain, who did.

"He has all of his memories," Harry explained with a grimace. "But not all of them are very clear. It's kind of like looking into a pensieve for him, really. They're his memories, but he feels… detached from them. He remembers clearly things only that he cares very much about."

"Like you," Draco interjected with a bright grin, tugging on Harry's sleeve. He turned to Ron and Hermione with a wise expression. "Harry is going to save me."

Ron's face boiled with rage at that one— _how dare he, presume that Harry would save the likes of him!_ —but Harry just nodded and smiled. "That's right, Draco. I promised, didn't I?" he nodded quickly. "Hermione, Ron—a formal introduction. Draco."

He bounded to his feet quickly, still in possession of the quick reflexes and agility that had made him a good seeker. "I'm Draco Malfoy, but you can call me Draco," he recited quickly and energetically. "Did I do it right, Harry?" He looked to the brunette for guidance, who nodded with a smile. He really was just like a child, needing to know he was doing okay. With that assurance, the blonde turned back to Hermione and Ron with an expectant look. Hermione, of course, understood right away and gave him a kind smile.

"I'm Hermione Granger-Weasley. You may call me Hermione, if you like—or 'Mione, everyone does," she introduced herself and he smiled widely and shook the hand she offered.

"Ron," the redhead ground out. "Ron Weasley." He gave no further elaboration. When Harry glared at him, he sighed. "You can call me… Mr. Weasley."

Draco looked like he was fine with that—he was acting much more hesitant with Ron, feeling the animosity that came from him in waves—but Hermione smacked him on the arm. "You're so immature! Get over yourself; we're not third years anymore, you git," she hissed at him, but before Ron could say anything, Draco had taken a step back and looked at her with surprisingly lucid eyes.

"You punched me in third year," he said slowly, a hint of a drawl coming into his voice. Harry blinked in surprise, dread quickly rising up within him. "You _punched_ —why, you filthy little mud—"

Harry laid a hand on his arm and he cut himself off, his eyes widening. Hermione's lips were shut tightly, her eyes wide, but when she opened her mouth to speak, Draco almost immediately crumpled. "I'm sorry!" he shrieked. "I'm sorry, don't be mad at me—Harry, I didn't mean to! Tell her I didn't mean to!"

Hermione looked at him in shock, not quite sure what to say. "It's… all right… Draco?" Draco's eyes, stormy as always, met hers and he bowed his head.

"I didn't mean to," he said in a small voice. Even Ron looked shocked at his display, the innocence and shame coming off of him in waves hitting him with full force.

"It's all right," Hermione repeated while Ron went through several emotions—shock, anger, confusion—and took Draco's hand, pulling him to his feet. Harry was glad he let her; it meant he was accepting her despite her very near stranger status.

"Thank you," Draco murmured. "That was a mean thing. I shouldn't have… why did I… I used to say that a lot." He winced. "I don't like that memory. Harry, I want that to go away." He turned to the savior with a pleading look, but Harry shook his head. Another thing the healer had told him regarding Draco—not to let him shrink away from his past.

"No, Draco," he said sternly, his voice only the slightest bit shaky. He wasn't used to refusing the Malfoy quite yet. "You can't just make it go away. It's you, and you have to accept that."

"I don't like that I said that," he repeated. "It's mean. People won't like me if I say that." Hermione's expression turned to pity. "So many people don't like me, Harry. I never wanted to be hated." His lower lip trembled.

"It's all right," Hermione said again, seemingly in shock. "No one hates you… Draco."

"They do, too," he disagreed. "Your husband hates me." He looked up at Ron with a hurt expression, and guilt seeped into Ron's brown eyes. "Everyone hates me and it's my father's fault. Father and Voldemort. And mine, because I have this mark and I'm evil!" Harry's eyes were drawn to the burn covering his arm where the dark mark used to be. Apparently, it had been when he'd burned off his mark that he'd really lost it. It had been a short week later when Draco was admitted to the hospital.

Ron moved forward, towering over Draco with an unreadable expression. The blonde knew he was there, felt his presence, and whimpered, drawing closer to Harry without looking at the redhead.

"I'm Ron."

Draco looked up at him with wet eyes, wiping at them with the back of his wrist. He looked at the freckled hand outstretched to him for a moment before taking it and shaking it resolutely. Ron took a deep breath, and smiled at him weakly.

"This is bloody weird, Harry," he said out of the corner of his mouth, making an interesting half-smile that had Draco giggling within seconds. Harry laughed with him. One step forward, he reminded himself as Ron and Hermione settled in. One step at a time.


	4. Chapter 3

"Oh… Mr. Potter!"

Harry looked over at the blonde woman standing in the doorway with a surprised expression, an expensive looking blazer draped over her forearm, and smiled. He recognized her from several of Hermione's charity banquets, and he'd spoken to her once or twice. She seemed like a very kind woman behind the unreadable mask she put on at public functions.

"Miss Greengrass," he greeted her with a nod, standing and offering her his hand. She took it, blinking, before smiling tentatively in return. "It's been a while." He sat down again, his hand returning to Draco's hair, which it had been stroking lightly. The Malfoy was still asleep; he tended to wake around ten to ten thirty, and Harry generally arrived at nine.

"You're here rather early," she ventured carefully, peering at him with a curious expression. "I've heard rumors you visit Draco regularly, but I didn't imagine you'd arrive before he woke."

Her voice was carefully structured, cuing Harry into the idea that she was lying. "Miss Greengrass… Astoria, if I may." She nodded. "Please, it's all right. I arrive at the same time every day, which you must know because I think it's obvious you're here to speak to me. May I ask how you found this out, however?"

She sighed, sitting down on the edge of Draco's bed, mirroring Harry. "Narcissa told me when I asked if she knew how to get a hold of you," she answered honestly, self-consciously smoothing the quilt under her. Harry chuckled; _of course she did_. "And I thought I'd visit a little earlier than I normally do." Harry examined her sharp cheekbones and soft blonde hair. She really would have been the perfect Malfoy wife, he mused.

"You visit regularly as well?" he teased and she cracked a smile, nodding.

"We all visit—well, those of us in London—on Wednesdays. Wednesday is the visiting day for _normal_ visitors, remember?" She returned his playful joking with a grin. He laughed and nodded. "Last week there was a gathering of mostly purebloods, in America, and everyone who normally visits Draco on Wednesdays, including me, was gone, but this week you get to see the normal mania. People in an out all day, since he's only allowed to have two visitors at a time. Of course, you don't count."

He nodded. "Everyone, hm?"

"Everyone. I normally visit after lunch, so I'll be by later, but I wanted to speak with you before he woke… speaking of, doesn't he find it weird to find you here when he opens his eyes every morning?" She sounded genuinely curious, which he could understand.

"In the past week and a half, he's grown quite used to it, actually," he answered. "Since Thursday, I've been here when he woke every morning. Monday I was in the bathroom when he woke and he panicked when he saw I wasn't there." He chuckled at the memory. "I almost shocked myself thinking he was cute." He had, actually. Draco was so very like a child in so many ways, he was adorable. Harry wasn't afraid to admit that; it was the truth.

Astoria laughed at that, the tension calming. Obviously, she was a little nervous about something, but Harry was determined to make her comfortable with speaking to him. "So… Mr. Potter…" She coughed, blushing slightly, and he sighed.

"Astoria, it's fine if you just call me Harry. Please. We're all here to help Draco, aren't we? We should be friends." Or at least acquaintances, but he was only going to point that out if she complained.

"You're right," she said meekly, her cheeks turning a slightly darker shade of pink. "I'm sorry, Harry. That's actually what I wanted to talk about—helping Draco." He raised his eyebrows. "First of all, I wanted to thank you. I spoke to Healer Thompson earlier, and he informed me of why you're here. Narcissa hadn't known—expect questions about that, by the way—but I really do want to thank you."

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a sure gaze. "Blaise, Pansy—they might not find your presence here particularly helpful at first, but when you explain… when they see Draco's reaction to your presence… I'm sure they'll be as grateful as I am, as Cissy and Lucius are." Harry thought idly that Astoria seemed rather close to Narcissa. She really _would_ have made the perfect wife. Without noticing, his hand's gentle petting turned slightly possessive as he continued to stroke fine blonde hair.

"It's nothing, really," he shrugged. "I am the savior, right?" The joke was weak, and they both knew it. "Seriously, though. Draco's helped me through a lot, whether he knows it or not, and I owe him. He doesn't deserve this."

"He's kind of like an angel," she commented, leaning over to touch Draco's hand lightly. "Have you noticed that? Back in school—I was a year younger than all of you—he seemed so cold and unapproachable in front of everyone, but when it was just me and him, or when we were just in a group of friends, he was actually rather easy to get along with. He was there for us when we were upset—you should have seen his reaction when Pansy was dumped by some Ravenclaw in fourth year—and he really was just so sweet." Her voice was fond.

"I saw him crying once." Harry didn't know what possessed him to say that and he rushed to defend the statement when she looked up at him in shock. "I'm just trying to say I never thought he was a cold-hearted bastard or anything. I just…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That sounded bad."

"You saw Draco crying?" she repeated, looking surprised again. "That's… Draco _never_ cried. At least, he never let us see him doing it."

Harry shrugged. "It was kind of an accident that I saw it. It was just before the…" He cleared his throat, guilt welling within him. "The _sectumsempra_ incident, actually. He got upset when he saw me standing there and started hurling curses at me." He chose not to mention Draco had tried to crucio him as it no longer mattered. That poor, tortured Draco… He looked down at the calm blonde cuddling against his hip with a peaceful smile. That poor, tortured Draco was gone. "Anyway… yeah. I knew he wasn't so stony as he always appeared." He shrugged, blushing at his own botched explanation.

But Astoria smiled. "Sixth year was hard," she murmured. "I'm going to go. You already answered my questions."

"How?" he asked, confused. He cocked his head, looking up at her, and she smiled again, this time with a hint of sadness in her green eyes, which were a much lighter shade than his own.

"Some things you said…" She trailed off, looking down at Draco's sleeping form. "Some I can just see. Right in front of my face, you know? I'll see you later, Harry." He nodded, a bit surprised by the abrupt closing, then looked back down at the blonde, not even hearing as the door clicked shut behind her.

He looked up at the clock hanging over Draco's bed. It was about the time Draco should wake up… Astoria had good timing if she wanted to leave before he opened his silvery eyes. He waited for Draco to wake up and waited for Narcissa and Lucius to arrive. Narcissa, the moment she'd been made aware that Harry was helping Draco, had owled him to let him know when she would be visiting and exactly what time she would be there to make sure they had time to speak in person.

"Harry," Draco mumbled in his sleep, grabbing the hand stroking his hair and hugging it. Harry had to lean over at an awkward angle for it to work, but he was okay with that. Draco did that nearly every morning and usually woke shortly thereafter.

Of course it was right then when Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy (when had he subconsciously decided that Narcissa came first?) walked in with a sharp click of the blonde aristocrat's heels at exactly ten o'clock. He gave them both a dry, nervous grin. It wasn't exactly the position he wanted to be caught in; nearly snuggling with their deranged son.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," he greeted them weakly. "Nice to see you." He fully expected Lucius to go red in the face, hex him, or both, and for Narcissa to stand there disapprovingly, but he was scolded with a simple, "Please, Harry, you've never called me anything but Narcissa; what are you being so surly about?" and a swat on the arm. Okay, so Narcissa wasn't angry, but that wasn't speaking for her husband.

He seemed to be taking deep breaths, and when his eyes opened, revealing blue-grey eyes similar to his son's, he smiled. "Hello, Mr. Potter." Spending time with Draco really had put him in touch with his Hogwarts years and he'd anticipated the scorn and mockery in Lucius's voice that had been there nearly two years ago.

"Hi, Lucius," he answered with a cheeky grin and the blonde laughed. "About this little…" He nodded toward Draco, but Narcissa waved away the explanation.

"Please, Harry, we know our son," she sniffed, conjuring a chair and sitting down delicately. Her husband did the same. "He's always been the affectionate sort." Harry almost wished he'd known that in school. Draco had looked like he could use a hug… or for someone to pull out that stick shoved up his ass. Either one. "And a mommy's boy, too." Her smug smile made _Harry_ want to blush; he couldn't imagine what Draco—the old Draco—would have done if he were there.

"Mum?"

Two blonde heads and one brunette looked down at the nineteen year old rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He released Harry's hand from the awkward embrace he had it in, but he took it up again with the hand not rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

"Hello, Mum," he greeted a surprised Narcissa. "Hello, Dad. It's Wednesday?"

Harry nodded in answer to his question, but Draco's parents could have been petrified for all he knew, because they weren't answering. Draco frowned, leaning over to poke his mother in the face. "Mummy?"

"Draco," she said faintly before smiling, her confused eyes turning on Harry, who was rather confused himself. Why did the two Malfoys look so shocked? "I… wasn't aware you were speaking in complete sentences." She seemed a little dumbstruck. Harry made a face. Oh, that. He'd almost forgotten that Draco hadn't felt he need to speak in complete sentences prior to his arrival.

He'd actually had to ask Draco to speak clearly and had found out that it wasn't for lack of ability—Draco just didn't like communicating. Harry had asked him to speak completely, figuring if they were going to try and help him recover, communicating like a normal human being was a key point to healing. There were times when Draco would disregard this, but a stern word from Harry would have him frowning and correcting himself.

"Harry says it's part of recovering," Draco quipped immediately. "I don't like it. It's easier to talk…" His eyebrows furrowed in thought as he tried to name the way he had spoken before. "The way I was."

Harry jumped in to explain, soothingly smoothing Draco's hair again in the way he knew the blonde liked, who leaned sideways to rest his head on Harry's shoulder and still face his parents. "Healer Thompson thinks he was thinking as simply as possible, therefore, speaking in the same way. He didn't often feel the need to speak normally. Only when it was important." Draco grinned up at him in a surprisingly impish manner.

"But when Harry showed up, I knew he could help me," Draco said, tugging on Harry's sleeve when he paused in his ministrations, who continued petting his hair. "So I knew I needed to work harder and now I'm thinking in sentences." His smile was brilliant, and directed at Harry. "I told you that you would save me."

Harry choked on his words, coughed, cleared his throat, and began again. "That's what I'm here for?" Of course Narcissa would laugh at his distress—really, what was he supposed to tell him? _Oh, sure, I'll just work some of my magnificent boy-who-lived magic and whisk your insanity away and you'll be as good as—okay, well you were never really_ good _to begin with but you'll be the same old snarky Draco as you always were!_ Right. If he could do that, than he'd sell his own magic and make millions.

Fortunately, Draco laughed as well, making him feel better. "So, Mummy, how are you?"

"I'm perfectly fine, darling," she said, calmly putting on her Malfoy mask again, but Harry could see her eyes; she could disguise the relief in them. He couldn't blame her in the slightest—this was her only son, being returned to her piece by piece. "Mrs. Granger-Weasley has several charity events lined up this week and next, so we're quite busy—you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Harry?" He nodded. He was expected to be at several of them. "I wish you could come, actually. There's one at the end of next week that will be lovely—more of a gala than a charity event, really."

"Next Thursday," Lucius interjected. "We'll be sure to take pictures if you'd like, son." Draco was obsessed with pictures, something Harry had learned rather early on. He had several photos, of friends, family, and places, all over the walls near his bed. "Or…"

Narcissa shot Lucius a dark look. "Don't," she warned. "If you're even thinking it, discuss it with both Harry and Healer Thompson first." Her voice was threatening, but Lucius just gave her a small smile.

"I already discussed it with Healer Thompson," he told her, his voice light enough to be almost _teasing_. "And he said it's fine, if Harry consents. It's a little early, but it's not like Draco was ever a particularly _rowdy_ patient in the first place… Harry, son…" Harry blinked, looking up at Lucius in slight shock. Lucius Malfoy, calling him _son_? What had the world come to? "Are you attending the gala next Thursday?" He nodded dumbly and Draco played with Harry's fingers, bored with whatever his parents were discussing, not listening in the slightest. "I was thinking… Perhaps you'd like to escort Draco?"

Draco perked up at the sound of his name, looking up at his father. "Escort me where?" he asked excitedly, almost at once, and Harry had the feeling he didn't have a choice, not that he minded much.

"I would be honored," he chuckled as Draco's eager eyes went from his parents to his _savior_. "I'm sure it would be good for him. Show him first hand what's out there, since he hasn't seen it in a year or so." Secretly, he sort of relished the idea of the drama the tabloids were sure to pick up. It would be _fun_ , and good for Draco, so long as Skeeter didn't show up and shove a camera in Draco's face. Draco yanked on his sleeve again with an annoyed expression, so familiar that it nearly broke Harry's heart. "If you want, I can take you to the gala your mother mentioned next week, Draco." He vaguely thought that if anyone else was dealing with him, they'd likely get annoyed with the blonde. He himself couldn't fathom becoming irritated with him and wondered if there was something wrong with his brain circuits, being more at ease with a mental patient than everyone else he had to deal with daily.

Draco's broad smile was heart-breaking as well. He looked so excited, enforced by the hug he pulled Harry into. "I'm so excited!" he squealed. Well, if Harry hadn't already deduced that, it would have been good to know.

Harry still smiled, enjoying Draco's childish happiness. "I'm glad," he said gruffly, his cheeks pink from having the blonde draped over him. "You know, your parents are watching this?" He meant it playfully, a joke more about Draco's past reservedness with his parents than anything, but Draco froze before his face turned scarlet and he pulled away in an instant.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Mother, Father," he murmured. He then looked over at Harry, as if seeking approval.

Harry, for one, was dumbstruck. Narcissa and Lucius, on the other hand, looked like something had just blown up right in front of their parents. "Draco," Lucius murmured. His wife murmured their son's name as well, but Harry couldn't quite speak yet.

Draco, on the other hand, was very near panic. "Harry? Was that okay?" Harry swallowed. "Harry?" His voice got very small after that. "Should I call you Potter? Did I mess up?" Harry cleared his throat, leaning over and putting a hand on Draco's head assuredly.

"No, no, it's fine, Draco. You did fine. I was just… a little shocked. Where did that come from?" Draco bit his lower lip, reaching up to move Harry's hand from the top of his head to his pale cheek and leaned into it.

"You said Mum and Dad were watching, and you sounded kind of serious… didn't want you mad at me… didn't want Harry mad at me…" Draco began to babble and Harry took a deep breath. "So I remember what I used to do before we got separated and I thought you wouldn't be mad if I did that like the old Draco."

Now Harry was officially shocked. "Old… Draco, what do you mean?" The blonde winced.

"I mean like me, before I couldn't think right and I turned all wrong." Harry let out his breath, taking in that information very slowly, processing it almost a word per minute.

"You're not wrong, Draco," he said at last, his voice quiet and almost shaky. "Not wrong at all. You're just a little different now. But that's okay, because I'm here to help you, remember?" It was the first time Harry had said that to Draco rather than Draco saying that to him, and it seemed to reassure him greatly.

"Harry?" Narcissa whispered. "What does this mean?" She looked worried and greatly confused.

"It means he's differentiating between when he…" Harry made a vague gesture toward Draco. "And before. Draco, when you think back to your memories of before you came here, how do they feel to you?"

"A little distant," he answered promptly, as if he'd explained it often. "Like they were very _old_ memories… almost like they're from a different person. I remember them, how I thought about them, but I don't think about them the same now."

"All of them?"

Draco's face contorted into a wince then and Harry regretted asking. He'd been wondering about the memories of his _violated_ home, of Voldemort, since Healer Thompson had mentioned it once, and now he had his answer. "Not all of them," he answered quietly, his voice almost a whimper. "Not all. Some hurt, Harry." He looked up and his eyes were a little wild. "Some of them really hurt. I don't like those memories."

"Like what?" Harry asked in a breathy voice, but Draco didn't answer. He just shuddered and yanked Harry forward into his arms, murmuring _safe_ , over and over again. Harry felt guilt flood through him; he'd messed up, upset him, enough to revert him back to the chanting. At least he still thought Harry was safe; that was good. That meant Harry could still help him.

"We're going to go," Narcissa murmured, getting up and vanishing the chair. Lucius didn't say anything to Harry, but he laid a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder when he leaned over to kiss Draco's temple goodbye. They left, and only Harry remained to rock Draco as he shuddered, his face buried in the brunette's shoulder.


	5. Chapter 4

Harry felt horrible.

He knew subconsciously that he hadn't actually done anything wrong, of course, but it didn't stop the guilt from eating away at him. The look on Draco's face when he'd said what he did… the pure horror in his eyes had frozen Harry's blood in his veins. Lucius and Narcissa had seemed disturbed as well when they left, if not a bit guilty themselves, likely for their hand in his childhood. He couldn't place any blame on the two however—he was the one who had pushed, who had brought it up.

"Draco, I'm sorry." His voice was bleak, angry—his anger focused only on himself. Draco obviously knew that for he pulled away to look up at him in piercing solemnity as if sensing his self-hatred. Sometimes it surprised him to know how keen Draco's intellect was, his empathy.

"What for, Harry?" he asked quietly, his voice soft, his respect and trust apparent in his voice. He didn't deserve that absolute adoration. "You didn't do anything." Harry disagreed, but he'd yet to get into an actual argument with the blonde and he didn't want to start now.

"I'm just sorry," he murmured, stroking Draco's hair. Such a beautiful man… he must never hurt him again. Harry winced at the thought; he was being bent over backwards for him and it had only been a week and a half! He'd never thought that Draco Malfoy would become so close to him that Harry would be pained to hurt him. Draco was practically his ward at this point; he felt undeniable affection for him, innocent and vulnerable as we was. Any would be tempted to care for him, and Harry was at his side constantly, put directly in the position to be his caretaker.

"Harry, why do you look so sad?" Draco murmured, touching his cheek lightly with his pale, slender fingers, but Harry didn't have the chance to reply for they were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in!" Draco chimed, easily building up his spirits again, dutifully banishing the dark thoughts plaguing him. "Oh, hello, Healer Clearwater!"

Harry blinked in surprise at the familiar brunette standing in the doorway. "Penelope Clearwater?" he said in open-mouthed surprised. Draco laughed at his surprise, poking his cheek with one finger.

Penelope laughed at him, too, putting a hand on her hip. "Surprised? I'm a little shocked you even remembered me." Harry grinned, standing and walking forward to shake her hand.

"Of course I remembered you," he chuckled. "I remember, you were Percy's girlfriend in my second year—a fairly lasting relationship, if I recall correctly." The name _Percy_ still tasted badly in his mouth but he forced it out naturally, resolving not to speak hatefully of any Weasleys. They were family, after all. She nodded, her nose wrinkling.

"Percy," she sneered, looking extremely distasteful at the thought. "Let's not go there. After he joined the ministry, I didn't want anything to do with him. He changed." Harry knew exactly what she was talking about and didn't disagree. "Anyway, why I'm here. Mr. Malfoy has several other guests, and the next two… I wasn't sure if you'd mind seeing them. They have just be informed that you're here, and it may get volatile."

"Who?" he asked, confused. Who could hate him so much they would react badly to seeing him and Draco?

"Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle." Harry's eyebrows raised in surprise. He hadn't realized that Draco's old school friends would visit.

"No, it's fine," he assured her. "I'll explain the situation and they should back off…" He thought about Draco's old friends and their history, wincing. "I hope. They shouldn't dismember or castrate me at any rate."

"Why would either of them castrate you in the first place?" Penelope asked, seemingly baffled. Harry raised an eyebrow. "What? I don't see why Goyle or Parkinson—ooh, Parkinson." She stifled a chuckle at that one, thankfully not outright mentioning the time Pansy had gotten attacked and had successfully amputated the most important part of rape. It had been all over the Prophet, which shocked Harry very little.

"Thanks for that reminder," Harry said, clearing his throat with a slight blush. "And you can just let them in. We'll be fine. Thank you though, Penelope." She smiled at him and nodded. Harry was struck by how pretty she was, with her mass of inky curls and warm brown eyes. She'd always seemed rather cold in school, but Harry could see how that it was either a façade, or something she'd grown out of. He wondered briefly how Percy had been stupid enough to lose her. Granted, he held no ill will against Percy anymore; after the fall of Voldemort, he'd gotten a lot of his problems straight and had formally and informally apologized to his family, starting with his mother.

"I'll see you around, Harry," she returned with a nod, obviously reminding herself that he'd been junior to her in school, therefore, she could speak to him with familiarity. Harry appreciated that she still saw him as a boy younger than herself instead of some big savior. Sometimes, Harry wanted nothing more than an elder who would treat him like the _young man_ he was. Even the minister would act like Harry was superior to him.

"Harry," Draco giggled in his ear, drawing his name out, and Harry laughed, thankful to him for lightening the mood and drawing him from his errant thoughts. "Harry, are you scared?" Harry peered down at him, still smiling while they waited for Harry's potential doom to walk in. "You are scared, aren't you?" Draco poked him with a beaming smile.

"Petrified," Harry responded cheekily, making the blonde laugh louder. He loved the sound of his laughter, honest and pure—like a child's. God knows he would never compare Draco to a child, not with his history, but he couldn't deny that this Draco had the innocence of one. He was eager to please, recognizing right and wrong… he truly was a sweet man underneath the walls he'd grown up with.

"You're going to be, Potter," a dark voice growled, its feminine lilt obvious. "This is so not what I needed." He winced at the angry look on the woman's face as she stood staring at them. Pansy Parkinson stood there, her eyes ablaze, her hair, much longer than it had been in school, styled into a fancy, rod-straight ponytail on the crown of her head. She dressed very well in a pair of artfully faded grey jeans and a delicate-looking blouse.

"Pansy!" Draco chirped, smiling up at her widely. Unlike his mother, Pansy wasn't at all surprised by the cheerful greeting; she stormed in with a much thinner, muscular Goyle who stood behind her silently, his dark eyes pondering the situation. He, too, dressed well in a pair of slacks and a black button down—the kind of outfit Harry wore to press conferences, and Draco for casual wear around the house. Harry had heard from gossips that both Crabbe and Goyle had grown up to be rather impressive men (Crabbe, an athlete, and Goyle, auror, much to everyone's surprise).

"Hello, Draco," she greeted him, refusing to take her eyes off of Harry, who sat there, wincing. "You look wonderful today, love. And as for you…" She turned her angry black eyes on Harry. "I've a bone to pick with you, Potter." He nodded, stroking Draco's hair as per the usual. He knew she wouldn't hurt him so long as Draco cared about him—and he hoped that the blonde did. He was _screwed_ if he was wrong. "You've got some explaining to do."

"Like what?" he countered as calmly as he could. Her eyes glittered threateningly and he could see how she had been worthy of the Slytherin dream team. Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. Before, he'd never understood how she'd fit in with them—he did understand now. It appeared she was fiercely loyal, and able to back up any threats. He'd heard rumors she'd joined the dark order so Draco had someone to watch over him and scoffed at them, but seeing her now, he gave the rumors some serious credit. They could very well be true, he could see that now, as he caught a glimpse of the mark on her arm, the same one Draco had before he burnt it off.

"Like why I just had an interesting conversation with Narcissa Malfoy, telling me that thanks to _you_ , an insignificant little Gryffindor who has done nothing but hurt Drake in the past, my best friend now speaks coherently." The entire statement was said through clenched teeth, forced and irritated. "She's all _a flutter_ , so excited her son is improving—which I don't even _believe_ —and you have Lucius wrapped around your finger as well. So tell me what the _hell_ you think you're doing!"

"You shouldn't talk like that, Pansy," Draco intercepted, wagging a finger at her. "You'll hurt Harry's feelings, and I don't want Harry hurt." Harry thanked god for the innocent man curled up to him with his bright smile and lovely blonde hair, which he had recently convinced Draco to cut to non-inmate standards. His haircut was now very similar to the style he'd had in later Hogwarts years, white-blonde bangs framing his face.

Slowly, Pansy turned to look at Draco, clearly shocked at the protective statement, before her eyes landed on the way Draco was wrapped around Harry, his head on the brunette's shoulder. "Potter," she growled. "What the hell have you done?"

Harry sighed. "Well, when I woke up this morning, I shut off my alarm, then watched Spanish soap operas (who knew that Francisco was really Paula's father?), and proceeded to drag my ass here to help _his_ state of mind," he answered her, his words clipped, and he immediately regretted being so plain with her. She certainly wasn't the first one to not understand what he was doing. He and Pansy had never gotten along—no surprise. He'd never even gotten along with _Draco_ before all of this happened, and Draco wasn't even sane!

"Harry," Draco admonished, wagging that slender finger in front of Harry's own face. "Watch your language!" Then he giggled again and tapped Harry's nose with the tip of his finger, much to Pansy's displeasure.

"Potter," she said, breathing deeply. "Explain. My best friend is coming back to himself, and I demand to know why." Was that a hint of… _respect_ in her voice? Who knew snapping at Slytherins earned respect? Snapping at Gryffindors just got hurt feelings.

So he launched into the story, explaining to her in detail everything that had happened two weeks before. He told her about Narcissa and Lucius, explained to her about Draco's progress. He talked for nearly an hour (Pansy's visit being nearly the longest by far), coming close to spilling his heart out to her in an effort to make her accept his help. He _would_ help, whether she liked it or not, but he would be so much more comfortable with it if he could at least make nice with Draco's friends, people he'd have to see regularly for at least a year.

He thought about that while Pansy pondered all he'd said. A year more… to one who didn't know him, it looked like Draco was making wonderful progress, and he was, to be sure. No one would guess that when alone, he reverted back to the dazed, almost catatonic patient (though, in an effort to please Harry, he would continue to speak in full sentences). He had gone out for lunch with Hermione and Ron Sunday afternoon and when he'd come back he'd found Draco sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, in the same position he'd been in the day Harry had first come to him.

It had scared him, to see him sitting there, banging his head against the wall, his scrubs (for whatever reason, Draco would insist on wearing maroon scrubs with a black shirt all the time, even though Harry had bought him sweats and jeans and even khaki shorts) clenched tightly in his fist.

Goyle, in fact, was the one who brought him back from his thoughts this time, sounding surprisingly mature. It seemed the war had affected everyone more than he'd thought. "So what you're saying is that because of you, Draco now has the will to recover?"

Harry nodded. "In a nutshell. It's more that he never thought he could, thinking he needed me—the _savior_ —" Pansy looked up at him in grudging curiosity at the scorn in the word. "To help him. Now that I'm here, he's willing to try and bring himself back."

"No," Draco said with a small, almost _dreamy_ smile. " _You_ brought me back. The strongest parts of me are tied to you." He leaned against Harry's chest, that smile still on his face, and closed his eyes, so tranquil Harry didn't even try to contradict him. Normally, this would cue a routine 'no, Draco, your recovery is up to _you_ ', but he couldn't work the words on his tongue.

Goyle's dark eyes searched Harry's face before he smiled—an expression Harry had never seen on his face before—and he laid a hand on Pansy's shoulder. She looked back at him, her expression defeated. "I support you," Goyle said in his gravelly voice. He would never be a good looking man, but he was an intellectual now (rumor had it he'd taken several speed courses to make up for the lack of schooling those years where he'd never applied himself other than to be Draco's lapdog), and Harry respected him for shaping up the way he had.

Pansy sagged and Goyle rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "I thought he was gone forever," she said, her voice hoarse, and when he looked up he saw she was fighting tears, her lower lip trembling as she tried to keep a scowl. "We all did." She was fighting a losing battle with her tears. "I don't like you, Potter…" Harry waited, because he was sure she wasn't done. "But I'm so relieved," she finished, her voice breaking, and a tear slipped down her aristocratic (if somewhat pug-like) cheek. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled an unresisting Draco into her arms. No more tears came, but she sobbed into his hair and Draco let her, rubbing the hands around his pale, skinny body.

"Don't cry, Pansy," he told her. "I'm right here, aren't I?" She didn't reply, but her shoulders shook. It took Harry's breath away, to see how close they were. It was commonly accepted back in Hogwarts that Slytherins didn't have real friends; they had allies. He could see it wasn't true now—the friendship between the blonde and Pansy was achingly apparent. It had killed Pansy to see her best friend the way he was. Harry thought absently, maybe even a little darkly, that Slytherins may have stronger friendships than Gryffindors. Here they were, visiting him in a _psychiatric ward_ , as they did every Wednesday. Harry wondered if his own friends would do that for him.

He looked up at Goyle, who had a sad, small smile on his face as he watched the two Slytherins hug. "She loves him," Goyle murmured. "So much. They're like siblings." Harry nodded; he could tell—it almost made his own heart ache, seeing Pansy's pain and relief. "We've always been that close, by the way," he added casually. "You may have figured it out by seeing these two—we're not so cold-hearted." He shrugged.

"I can tell," he murmured and Goyle smiled. "I just want to help him. I realize we don't have the best of pasts, but is it enough that I'm helping him now, Goyle?"

He shrugged, his expression calm. "I think it is." He cracked another smile. "It's Greg, by the way. I think we'll be seeing a lot of each other, so let's make it pleasant, shall we?" Harry laughed, the sound making Draco perk up, and nodded.

"Harry." They shook hands and Pansy, wiping her eyes furiously, let Draco go, standing and smoothing out her clothes.

"I thank you for what you're doing," she said stiffly, her eyes betraying her embarrassment. "But don't expect us to be best friends. Greg a lot more accepting than I am." She sniffed at him and he smiled in return.

"I can accept that," he answered, nodding. He held his hand out to her. "I only want to help Draco, Parkinson. We both want that." She searched his eyes before nodding and shaking his hand firmly—so firmly, in fact, that when she retracted her hand, Harry shook it, trying to get feeling back into the limb. He saw a ghost of a smile grace Pansy's thin lips.

Harry couldn't believe how swiftly the day had progressed after that. The last two Slytherins—Crabbe and Nott—had come shortly after and that meet-and-greet had been much less exciting than the previous visit, but it was also much more amiable. Harry was almost surprised with how well he got along with the Slytherins—Goyle was one thing, but it turned out they all got on pretty well. Crabbe and Harry had a lot in common—Quidditch for one, of which Crabbe was a professional player. Harry didn't play much anymore, but when he could he was ecstatic.

Nott, on the other hand, was working in the Ministry—rather closely with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, actually, which surprised Harry greatly. He was pleasant, much different than he'd been in school. Harry enjoyed their company greatly, and so did Draco, who spent most of the visit laughing at Nott's antics. Draco's enjoyment was ranked above his own, but he did enjoy himself, much more than he'd originally thought.

They finished the visiting day with Hermione and Ron, who came in with smiles and neutral expressions, respectively. It surprised him, how much Hermione loved Draco. There were times when Draco's past self crept up on him, but Harry secretly thought that Hermione loved him more because of them… which may or may not have anything to do with the cuddling Draco would do on Hermione's lap, crying in apology.

Ron greeted Draco and sat down to Harry, giving him someone to talk to while Hermione and Draco amused themselves. He was especially grateful to Ron, who had finally come around. He still didn't like Draco much, but it meant the world to Harry that he was being pleasant to him. He'd gone so far as to accept a _hug_ once, though he'd looked like he'd swallowed a lemon the whole time, his cheeks pink. Harry had laughed so loudly he'd earned a dirty look from his friend, but he knew that the redhead wasn't really angry.

Draco was so lively, he thought as he and Ron watched their wife and ward play. So beautiful.

He started, realizing for the first time that he'd actually thought that. Ron, next to him, gave him a curious look, but Harry was busy enough, banishing all thoughts that included _Draco_ and _beautiful_. He felt a feeling of dread rise within him. What was happening to him? How could he…?

Then Draco broke away from Hermione and hugged him with loud laughter, telling him all about what his brunette friend had done, and Draco's smile blew his dread away. He returned the smile, forcing himself to calm down. Draco was the priority, Draco's happiness, Draco's well being. All were more important than himself.

He barely realized that Draco was quickly becoming the center of his entire world.


	6. Chapter 5

Harry wanted to slap himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. The women had spent the last half hour dressing Draco, wanting to surprise him—and he was certainly surprised. He hadn't seen the blonde out of his scrubs and t-shirts since they'd met again and he'd almost forgotten how striking Draco looked dressed up. Well, if it were any consolation to his memory, he wouldn't be forgetting any time soon.

For a moment, until Draco smiled shyly, Harry thought he'd been taken back in time. Standing in front of his waiting spot outside the hospital was the same blonde from his memories, silk hair impeccable, looking self-assured and hauntingly gorgeous in a grey suit that matched his eyes, and a green tie and handkerchief that matched Harry's. The suit fit him perfectly, hugging his body and showing off his slim curves. Behind him, Pansy and Astoria stood in their respective evening gowns, both lovely… both complete fashion geniuses.

Harry understood why Hermione had insisted on a grey tie with his black suit—she was obviously in on it. On the other hand, Astoria was looking flawless in a red halter-top dress that fell to her ankles in elegant waves that brought out the amber flecks in her forest green eyes. Pansy, on the other hand, was carefully decked out in blue, the ocean-colored dress strapless and a little less body-hugging than Astoria's—there was a ribbon directly under her bust and the dress flared out from there to the floor.

Both women had superior smiles on their lips; obviously, they'd been going for this exact effect on Harry. Pansy's smirk was a little more smug than Astoria's and Harry was pretty sure she just wanted to say she'd impressed Harry Potter. Still, he thought Pansy was warming up to him quite nicely, an idea that was supported by the flower she'd brought for him—that _she_ had brought for _him_. It was a beautiful silver-flecked lily and he'd tucked it into his pocket and thanked her with a kiss on the hand (admittedly, he was trying to squick her) that she just rolled her eyes at.

"You two are bloody brilliant," he conceded, bowing almost teasingly, but his words were true. "Draco, you look wonderful." Draco's cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink and his smile was 1000 watt. He rushed forward as if broken from a spell, taking up Harry's hand like he'd been waiting for acknowledgment to be able to.

"You look so handsome, Harry," Draco responded, giving him that awe-struck smile again and Pansy snickered behind them at Harry's blush as they walked to the corner of the apparition ward. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a smiling Astoria smack the brunette with her purse and Pansy forced her snickers to subside. They reached the edge and stepped out. He felt the magic lift around them and he looked down at the blonde bouncing slightly at his side.

"Are you ready, Draco?" he implored as Pansy and Astoria both left with a soft crack. The blonde had watched them go and gulped, securing Harry's arm and nodded. "I won't let anything happen to you, Draco, you know that, don't you?" The blonde looked up at him, grey meeting green steadily.

"I know," he answered, his voice determined, and Harry smiled, taking his other hand and apparrated. He felt Draco cling to him as they were pulled through the warp (he really didn't like apparating, but flooing would have gotten soot all over their suits). When they landed, Harry noticed that Draco's eyes were shut tight, and he gently touched Draco's cheek. "Are we there?" His voice was in a slightly higher octave than normal and shook.

"We're there." Draco opened his eyes then and sighed in relief. He continued to look perturbed for a moment, but after a minute or so he took a deep breath and smiled up at Harry. "Do you not like apparating, Draco?" He shook his head, but his smile didn't falter. "That's okay. I don't like it much, either."

"You don't?" Draco asked him, cocking his head to the side. Harry smiled, shaking his head, and put his finger to Draco's lips when he opened his mouth again. The blonde looked incredibly surprised and for an unknown reason, his cheeks tinged pink again.

"C'mon, we'll talk later," Harry told him, wiggling his arm free of Draco's vice grip and taking his hand, looping it through his arm in a normal manner. He didn't notice Draco's flush as they fought through the crowd. "Right now, we should go find Hermione, don't you think?" Draco nodded, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Yeah, Hermione," he echoed obediently. "Then can we find Blaise? Pansy said Blaise would come." Harry agreed almost immediately and Draco's eyes lit… almost as if he were coming to a realization of some sort. Harry hoped it wasn't the realization that Harry would agree to pretty much anything he said, because that could spell trouble for him in the future. Just imagine what he could be coerced into doing—bringing him sweets, massaging his feet, piggy back rides—who knew?

"Harry!" The happy greeting had gotten the attention not only of Harry and the blonde, but of the entire gala (made up of the press, a good deal of the ministry, and nearly every pure-blood in London), who turned to him and subsequently, his "date", in shock. The whispers commenced at once, though not loud enough Harry could make out what was being said.

"Hello, Hermione," he greeted her with a warm smile, releasing Draco's hand to give his friend a hug. She grinned at him when he pulled away and Draco snatched his hand up again, an uneasy look on his face.

"Crowded, Draco?" she asked amiably and he nodded, shuffling his feet. "Don't worry. We're all friends, aren't we? No one will hurt you here, love." Somehow, Draco had become like a child to her, which would surely get interesting once Hermione had her own. Harry was surprised that she still managed to wear an evening gown so well five months pregnant. It, much like Pansy's, was strapless, but in black, the sash a deep shade of blue, almost the same shade as the aforementioned Parkinson's dress.

"I haven't been around so many people in a long time," he murmured, nearly into Harry's shoulder. But then he squared his own and took another deep breath. "But I'm with Harry, and I don't want to embarrass Harry. I'm not embarrassing you, am I?" His hand wasn't sweaty, per se, but it was warm, and Harry could sense his fear.

"No, of course not, Draco," he assured the blonde. "You've never embarrassed me." _Better not bring up the past._ Draco smiled at him, but there was still a touch of uncertainty in his eyes. Luckily, they were saved a very personal conversation as Ron came up, clapping Harry on the shoulder and sliding an arm around his wife's waist.

"Hello, mate. Malfoy," he greeted them. Draco nodded, giving him a smile in greeting. Ron was still uncomfortable with using Draco's first name, but Draco wasn't complaining and Ron really was trying, so Harry didn't push it. Then he leaned in and muttered to Harry, "You got any ideas? You don't even want to _know_ what stories the gossips are coming up with."

Harry winced. "I have no idea, Ron. I was hoping maybe one of the girls had an idea…?" Ron laughed. "What?"

"I love how dependent you are on them nowadays," he chuckled. "Didn't you and Parkinson hate each other a week ago?" Harry blushed; Ron was right. He fit in so well with the Slytherins it shocked him. Pansy, while she still wouldn't admit to it, was growing fond of Harry, who fought back against her temper with pure sarcasm.

"She grows on a person," Harry muttered and Ron just clapped him on the shoulder again, grinning at Draco, who was watching Harry blush with interest. "They're not as bad as we always made them out to be."

"I knew that before you did," Ron snorted and Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't give me that look; it was Malfoy I didn't like. No offense, blondie." Draco shrugged, his big grey eyes still trained on Harry's face.

"None taken," he answered in his soft voice. "Harry, what will you tell the men?"

"The men?" Harry repeated, confused, and Draco flung his hand out, pointing with one slender finger to a group of reporters a few yards from them. "Oh, them. I don't know. Obviously, it wouldn't be good to tell them where you've really been…" Ron and Hermione watched as he thought, obliviously stroking Draco's hair, sharing knowing looks (though Ron's was a little closer to a grimace). "I dunno, maybe say you've been sick."

With a bright smile, Draco gave a pathetic cough into his hand and Harry laughed. "Like that?" Harry nodded while his friends chuckled.

"Hey, Malfoy, where you been hiding? A brothel?"

There were several snickers at the jibe and Harry spun around with a wicked glare on his face, startling them into silence. Obviously, they hadn't seen the entrance of the two and hadn't realized who the companion was of their victim, but the moment his green eyes locked on them, four mouths shut tight. "That's what I thought you said," he snapped. He recognized them as Hogwarts students newly graduated, a year under him—Ginny's class. Speaking of—

"Hey, wonder boy!"

Harry gave the four one last glare and looked from them to his ex-girlfriend, who walked toward them in a body-hugging lilac dress, a huge smile on her face. "Gin," he greeted her, pulling her small body into his own for a hug. "I'm surprised you could get off. Slow night?"

She nodded, grinning. "This may be the first party I've been able to get away from the auror office for in a good three weeks. Luckily, I had Smith to cover for me when I asked to get off early. Such a good sport, that boy. Annoying, but a sport." She was still in Harry's arms, smiling at him amiably and they both heard a low growl behind them before a warm body was sandwiched between them, pushing the shorter redhead away.

"Mine," Draco said, his voice threatening and almost desperate, on edge, like he was scared of something. "Keep your distance, filthy blood traitor! Mine!"

The area around them went silent and Draco had gone still from where he stood, pressed against Harry's body. Almost immediately, Harry could see the guilt in Draco's eyes when he looked up at him in panic but Harry just shushed him and pulled the blonde behind him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to Ginny. "He has flashes of his old self when he feels threatened by something. He doesn't mean it." Ginny—clearly angry—nodded once, but Harry could see in her eyes that she was more affronted than anything. Ginny was the more forgiving of the two youngest Weasley siblings—thank god he hadn't said that to Ron, who probably would have flipped his lid, public or not. His eyes flickered to his friend, who was gesturing for Harry to take Draco aside for a minute and he nodded at him. Ron now, at least, understood what was going on.

Harry tucked the blonde under his arm and ushered him into the hallway of the large mansion (he believed it belonged to the Parkinsons), looking around to make sure they were alone before he spoke. "Draco…"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes downcast. There was a light flush on his cheeks—the tips of his ears even, were pink, and he was nibbling on his bottom lip. For a moment, Harry couldn't tear his eyes away but he cleared his throat and spoke, moving his eyes to the top of Draco's bowed head.

"Draco, what's wrong?" he asked gently. "I'm not mad at you—I'm worried."

"I just don't like her," he mumbled. "That's all." He toed closer and buried his head in Harry's chest and the brunette sighed and stroked his hair again, playing with a strand of blonde. Without thinking about it, he dropped a kiss to the crown of the Malfoy's head.

"Will you apologize?" Without looking up, he nodded. "Thank you, then. Can we do it now?" He agreed again and with a smile, Harry took his hand and led Draco—still blushing in what he assumed was shame—back into the ball room. "Ginny!"

She looked over at them and began to walk over but before she reached them her path was cut off by a couple reporters—one shorter with very little neck that reminded Harry in a roundabout way of Vernon Dursley in appearance, and a blonde one who was fairly average looking but with a beaming smile. "Hello, Mr. Potter," the blonde greeted him enthusiastically. "I'm Elizabeth Swardle, with the Daily Prophet? I was wondering—just a question or two—"

" _I_ am Ephisto Rimes, with Wizards Weekly—"

They glared at each other before turning back to Harry with matching smiles. "Can I ask you some questions regarding your date?" they chirped together through gritted teeth. Draco looked up at him, his cheeks calmly turning back to a creamy peach color, the blush fading.

"Sure," Harry sighed, like he was bored or uninterested, but his grip on Draco tightened. "Hit me."

"Where has Mr. Malfoy been for the last year?" Rimes began immediately, peering at the blonde quizzically, his pen poised over a pad of paper. "No one has seen hide nor tail of him since shortly after the final battle. Has he perhaps been hiding with you these many months…?" Harry snorted.

"Yes, I've been keeping him locked up in Grimmauld Place as my love slave." Draco coughed violently, his cheeks a fetching shade of pink once more (Harry was starting to think it was his job to make him blush, for whatever reasons) and Harry patted him on the back. "I'm kidding," he added when he saw the reporters scribbling. "He's been ill for much of the past year."

"So he's been recovering," the reporter summarized and Harry nodded while Draco ceased his coughing fit, giving Harry a pout, making him laugh.

"Yes," he chuckled. "He's been recovering. Horrible illness—a mutation of Dragonpox, we think. It was contained, though, and there weren't any other outbreaks…" He shrugged, completing the coverup flawlessly. "He's still in the process of getting back to shape."

"And are you two, or are you not, in a gay relationship?"

Harry's eye twitched and he gave the Swardle woman one of his finest glares. "Draco and I are not in a relationship save for our friendship. Right, Draco?" He looked to the stunned blonde for backup, who ducked his head again and nodded mutely.

"Harry," he muttered into Harry's sleeve, shuffling closer once more. "I don't like all these questions." His quiet voice was muffled, barely audible, but luckily Harry had spent the last three weeks becoming fluent in _mumble_.

"That will be all," he said smoothly. "I am quite sorry for the lack of information for your story." Underneath his calm tone, his voice held barely contained anger. Couldn't they see the blonde wasn't strong enough to stand up to their scrutiny? In the small part of his mind still calm, he rationalized it wasn't really their fault. Still, it irritated him. "I hate reporters," he growled under his breath as he led Draco over to where Pansy and Blaise (who was doing quite well, it seemed) stood.

"I used to like that," Draco murmured as they walked toward the brunettes. "I used to like answering their questions… being _questioned_ all the time. I used to not be afraid to tell them everything before I became like this. That Draco wasn't scared of anything." His voice broke and Harry hurried him along, squeezing his shoulder.

"It doesn't matter what that Draco was. You're the same person—you're getting better, Draco. Maybe one day you'll be him again," he comforted him with a weak smile, dreading the possibility of that every happening. He liked this Draco— _his_ Draco. If the Draco Malfoy of before ever appeared… Harry knew himself well enough that he wouldn't handle it well.

"I don't want to be him again," Draco murmured, looking up at him with those clear grey eyes. "He was mean." Harry had to chuckle at the simplicity of his statement, but was interrupted as Draco continued, within hearing range of Blaise and Pansy now. "He's still part of me—I know that. In some ways, we're the same, like how we hate carrots and beans and lumpy mattresses. But some times, we're two completely different people."

He was finished, but even if he weren't, they would have been interrupted by Blaise, who strode over the few feet left and gathered Harry into a hug that nearly crushed his lungs.

"Um—" Harry choked out, patting the Zabini on the back as well as he could with the circulation from his upper arms to his lower being cut off by the ring of Blaise's arms. He could feel the brunette shaking slightly before he shoved Harry away to crush Draco instead, who managed to flip his mood once more and laugh, clutching at his friend in the same way he was being grabbed.

"I didn't believe her," Blaise said in a low voice from where he was embracing the blonde. "I honestly didn't believe her, but I can see now I was wrong. You did save him. He can speak… look at you!" He was very nearly cooing at the adored blonde. "I suppose my girlfriend dressed you?"

"Girlfriend?" Harry repeated in surprise and he heard Pansy laugh—almost a _giggle_. What had he missed? "You and Pansy—"

"A month now," the Parkinson answered with a beaming smile. "We were going to tell Draco in person, which is why I haven't mentioned it till now. Blaise and I have been seriously dating since a couple days after Weaslette's training-completion party for her auror training." Surprisingly, Pansy and Ginny had become friends after the final battle and Harry wasn't surprised to hear the formerly derogatory nickname spoken with an affectionate air.

"I'm happy for you," Harry said honestly, with a grin, and Pansy shocked him by coming forward to give him a hug. He felt her slender arms wrap around his waist to squeeze him briefly before she pulled away with an embarrassed half-smile.

"I owe you a lot, Potter. My entire opinion of you has done a 180 since I found out you're helping Draco." She paused before hurriedly adding, "I guess what I'm saying is that I'm glad it was you. I've sort of become fond of you." Harry laughed, still slightly shocked at her embrace.

They all laughed—even Draco, who was in the process of being _aweh_ -ed over by Blaise, and Harry let himself go, enjoying the night with his friends. Draco was having fun, he was enjoying himself, and everyone he cared about was just as content as he was if not more so.

He knew things wouldn't become perfect overnight, but for now, he could be happy with fleeting happiness.


	7. Chapter 6

The day was cool—the sun warming as the breeze chilled. The mixture of the two was pleasant, much like a spring day though it was nearing the end of summer. The sun lit the golden streaks in pale blonde hair, brought out a sparkle in silver eyes. Behind him, he was observed by watchful emerald, a careful pace away. Indeed, Harry watched the blonde as he strolled with the air of a Malfoy—trying to regain some of his former habits. They had discussed the matter heavily in the month since the gala, and had come to the decision that it was best for him to learn the mannerisms of his past self.

It had frightened Draco to be questioned the way he had been at the gala—and since then, there had been two outings, both of which had ended in questioning that had sent Draco into fits. The first of which, and part of the second, had been simply because he was acting so innocent, so carefree—something Draco Malfoy was not known to be.

Ginny had left not an hour before; after the gala, they had found her and apologized—first for Draco's outburst, and second for being detoured on their way to apologize afterwards. She'd made it a habit to visit whenever she could, and since it was Harry, she was given privileges to visit, even when it wasn't a Wednesday.

Yes, he was making beautiful progress—slowly returning the dignity and so far none of the arrogance of before.

"Am I doing well, Harry?" he called, over his shoulder, shuffling his feet in the grass on the roof, which had been magically transfigured into a lavish garden—very beautiful, Draco's favorite place. For such a long time, he hadn't been allowed on the roof because of his previous mental state, but as he drew more and more out of the hole inside his mind, he was allowed more privileges than before.

Harry met him and they began walking together. "Yes, Draco. You're doing well. Very well." He was almost afraid of how well he was doing; when Draco was trying, he was so much like the Malfoy from Harry's memories that it frightened him. Sometimes, even the condescending look on his face as he attempted to look superior for public appearances made Harry want to look away in discomfort—and could he be blamed? He had spent nearly nine years hating the Malfoy from his memories, and to see him—even a small part of him—returned in the sweet eyes of his dear Draco? The blonde was a friend, a close friend—his dearest, and if the near impossible was to happen… if the old Draco were to resurface completely… it was very likely the pain of losing him would kill Harry.

But Draco dropped the façade—what Harry hoped was a façade, anyway—and turned like a child in a field of flowers, delicately innocent and happy, to Harry with a wide, beautiful smile. "It's so bright up here, so lovely," the blonde crowed, coming up to latch onto Harry's arm. "Not at all like the gardens at home." His voice darkened considerably as he said this, making Harry worry; he stroked Draco's fine hair reassuringly and the blonde's smile returned, though his own fragile peace of mind did not. "Visit the rose bushes with me, Harry? I haven't been to see them in the past week, and Healer Thompson promised me he'd have them charmed to shimmer in rainbow colors."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, slipping his arm outside of Draco's to slide it across his shoulders instead, drawing him close as they veered toward the roses—Draco's roses, really, because they'd been planted for him when he'd been given the privilege of the garden. He'd begged Healer Thompson—Reggie, though Harry felt seriously uncomfortable calling Draco's doctor by his first name—to plant them, and he'd given almost too easily. No matter how young Healer Thompson was, Harry knew perfectly well that he saw Draco almost as his own brother—and who could blame him? In this state, Draco was probably the most loving, and lova _ble_ , person he knew.

"Oh my god!" the blonde squealed, breaking away from him and rocketing toward the shimmering flowers. Harry laughed as his charge did, burying himself in the magically thornless roses, crying out in surprise as the blooms turned from a deep shade of red to an almost chrome-like shade of grey, so close to silver it matched his gorgeous eyes. "Look at them, Harry—aren't they beautiful?"

Harry nodded, walking over and helping him out of the bushes, plucking a single rose from its nest and settling it in the pocket of Draco's plain black shirt. Even though he was improving—he looked so much more human than he had, his color brighter and his eyes more aware—he still insisted on the black t-shirts and scrubs. Even though he was getting out more as well, he was also continuing to cover his walls in pictures of everywhere his family went, Harry went... even pictures from the grocery store Blaise and Pansy shopped at.

Draco grabbed Harry's hand, pulling him from his thoughts and into something vaguely resembling a waltz. He didn't argue, just stepped with the blonde, surprising him as they gracefully twirled through the roses. A couple assistant healers watched them with looks of discrete awe. Harry could understand that; Draco was such a stunning creature, it was difficult not to be charmed.

When they slowed, Draco tugged behind his neck, a command Harry understood well at that point. The taller of the two (which had been surprising at first; Draco had been taller than him in school) leaned down, sliding an arm down to scoop the Malfoy up, who relaxed in his arms and nuzzled his neck. "I'm so glad you're here," Draco whispered against his neck. "You make everything better."

"I'm glad," he chuckled.

"They think we're beautiful together," Draco whispered, burying his slightly-chilled nose into Harry's neck, his lips forming the words against his collarbone. "So you can't ever leave me, okay?"

"I wouldn't leave you unless you wanted me to," the brunette swore with a smile. He pressed an inconspicuous kiss to his hairline.

"Could never want that," The blonde moaned into that spot between Harry's neck and shoulder. "Die if you leave," he mumbled. "Go back to before. Can't go, can't ever go." Harry didn't like the way Draco was mumbling; with a flick of his wand (warded that no one but Harry could touch it as per hospital regulations), he conjured a bench and sat. He arranged Draco in his lap and stroked his fine blonde hair.

"Draco," he murmured. "Draco, love, are you okay?" The blonde shrugged, but his lower lip was stuck out slightly in a way that told Harry he was thinking about something he didn't like very hard. His suspicions were affirmed when the blonde pulled out his comfort item—the golden snitch Harry had bought him for his birthday, charmed so it didn't fly more than five feet away from Draco. He stroked it softly. "Maybe we should go inside and talk about this."

Draco looked up at him wordlessly, but his eyes held all of the fear that his not speaking kept out of his voice. He stroked Draco's cheek the same way he was stroking the snitch.

"Draco," he said gently. "I think it's time to discuss this." He felt the blonde stiffen, but he didn't pull away, which Harry considered a good thing.

"Discuss what?" he asked in a carefully petulant voice and it hit Harry just how far his progress extended. Draco was trying to hide his emotions from Harry now, and he didn't like that one bit.

"Your fears," he answered simply and Draco trembled before going still. He didn't say so out loud, but the subject went hand in hand with the reason his mind collapsed. Harry was positive that Draco's fear of Voldemort and of abandonment had something to do with it, and Healer Thompson had been urging him for weeks to talk about the reason Draco had become the way he was before he made too much more progress in case he receded again.

"Draco?" he said softly, shifting the blonde to sit at his side to make it harder for him to hide his expression—and partially because Draco was eating more and starting to weigh like a normal nineteen year old man instead of a ten year old boy. Draco had a smaller frame than most, but he wasn't naturally _that_ small. "Do you think you can do that for me, love? Talk with me about all the things that scare you?" He couldn't remember just when, or why, he'd begun using the endearment—just that Draco liked it, and it fit.

Leaning over with a tortured expression, resting his forehead on Harry's shoulder, he murmured, "Do you want me to talk about it? Will it make you happy?"

"Only if you can handle it," he said calmly. "I'm willing to wait if you think you can't." He knew that Healer Thompson was afraid of a relapse, and he knew that it was entirely possible, but from what he'd seen of his gradually improving condition, Draco knew his limits.

"For you," he said in an unusually intense voice. "I can handle anything for you." He looked up with his honest grey eyes, the sunlight hitting them just _so_ , making the blue glint and the grey to turn to silver. He nodded and kissed Draco's forehead again, not noticing the way the blonde's cheeks flushed as he called over the nearest apprentice.

"Yvette!"

The redhead jogged over, a smile curving her lips upward. Harry knew as well as Healer Thompson did that Yvette was probably rather unsuited to be assigned to Draco's case—given the fact that since he'd started getting better, she'd developed a major crush on both Draco _and_ Harry. The blonde was always a little colder with her, though—or maybe cold wasn't the right word. More like himself, really—he treated her like she was something stupid that he could use to his advantage. Most of the time, Harry found it funny—but there were times when it would strike a nerve.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Potter? Mr. Malfoy?" Her voice was practically a purr on their names and the blonde subtly pasted a small smile on his face, his posture straightening just the slightest bit. Harry knew what he was doing—he didn't know what to make of the girl, so he pulled everything he knew from his memories and used them.

"We want to go back downstairs," Draco answered for him, his voice almost amused. "To my room." Yvette made a face before smiling and leading them toward the door from the roof. Only the healers and apprentices in charge (who had put her in charge was obviously a little mad himself, but Harry wouldn't say anything) had authority to the entrances to the hospital, and it was Yvette who tapped her wand—willow, ten inches… unicorn hair, if he was right, and he was pretty sure he was—on the lock of the door. Part of his unused training as an auror was to tell the base elements of wands, for deciphering power and general aura, and now it was more of a habit than anything, to check people's wands.

As they passed, Yvette laid a hand on Harry's upper arm, flashing him a flirtatious smile.

Draco's smile turned darker and he laid a hand of his own on her shoulder, his fingers threading through Harry's possessively. "Thank you," he said sweetly, but his eyes were much, much colder and Harry watched as Yvette batted her eyelashes, completely oblivious. "I appreciate it." With a sharp turn of his heels, he then marched down the hallway, his grip on Harry's arm getting tighter and tighter.

When they were far enough away, Draco seemed to crumble and he threw his arms around Harry, making little noises that weren't quite sobs. "I hate her!" he whispered, his voice so filled with despair that Harry couldn't help but wrap his arms around the blonde, lifting him again and carrying him to the elevator that would take them to the Malfoy's room. "I hate it when she touches you," he whispered against his shoulder, his voice venomous.

"Why?" Harry asked, honestly confused. As the elevator dinged their arrival onto their floor, Draco pulled back to lock eyes with him, intense grey meeting green.

"Because, what if she takes you from me? What if you like her and she'll take you to be her boyfriend? If you get a girlfriend, you'll never remember me. You'll never come back to help me, and I'll just _die_!" Draco finished with an exaggerated huff, but the fear in his eyes was very real.

Harry didn't respond until they were safely in Draco's room, the tan walls covered with their photographs and Pansy's sketches—all landscapes and more than a few of a smiling Blaise. He set the blonde down on his bed, who was nibbling on his lower lip anxiously, tears welling in his blue eyes. Draco obviously thought he was going to leave, but he just sat down next to him and propped himself against the headboard, pulling Draco against his chest.

"Why do you seem to think I'll leave you at my first opportunity?" he asked, while his surprised ward just sniffed against his shoulder.

"Because," he said in his little voice. "You're too good, too good for me, too good to save me. Why would you stay? Besides, you'd probably rather have a _girlfriend_ than have me. I'm just a burden to you. All I do is cause you trouble. You practically live here—don't think Healer Warren didn't mention you're sleeping in the break room!" Harry's cheeks darkened at the truth of his words; he hadn't been to his apartment in a week. "I'm… practically ruining your life." The tears were so obvious in his voice.

He stroked Draco's hair. "First off, I don't want a girlfriend." He coughed, embarrassed, but if it would assuage Draco's fears… "I'm gay." He coughed again and Draco stilled in his arms before squeezing even tighter, burying his face in Harry's shirt. "And besides," he said in an attempt to change the subject to something he was comfortable discussing with Draco. "Why would I just… abandon you? Who could ever abandon you?"

Draco made a sound that made obvious his reluctance to answer, to talk about it at all, but he sighed and said in a quiet voice, "Mother did. Father went with her and left me alone, after the war, but before I came here." His voice trembled only slightly, but for the most part, it sounded empty, a monotone he was using to get through speaking about the whole ordeal without crying. "It was horrible—they were in France, planning to lay low for a year or two until everything settled down. I was going to go with them, but…" He looked away. "I didn't want to run away. That's when I started thinking about you, how I knew you had to be scared the whole time, but you never ran. You went from enemy to idol in a month." He laughed, but the sweet sound was heavy and Harry stroked his hair a bit more firmly, his hand threading through white-blonde hair and staying there, only his thumb moving in slow strokes over his scalp. "I didn't want to run, didn't want to be a coward, so I stayed. In a hotel, for a while, but since Mum and Dad were in France, they froze the accounts since it wasn't technically _my_ money and I couldn't pay for the room anymore."

"So you went back to the manor," Harry assumed and Draco nodded in affirmation. He remembered the manor vaguely; he'd only been there once, but it was a beautiful place—and now, for Draco, a haunted one.

"It was horrible. I didn't want to go back, I really didn't, but I didn't have a choice," he said, his voice getting distant. "It was like every bit of happiness that was there before—it wasn't always such a cold place—everything, was just gone. All of my memories, all of it tainted. Infected by that _monster_." He shuddered and Harry just rocked him slowly. "Everything," he whispered. "Was just _wrong_. I saw him, everywhere. I would look at the top of the stairs and expect to see him there, standing with that smile that said he knew how scared I was. I forced myself to stay there, for days… I didn't realize what had happened, only that when Pansy came to visit, she had looked so scared."

"Why?"

"Because," he said, mumbling the word against the shoulder of Harry's jacket. "She came, and found me in the living room where he used to sit and yell at all the death eaters, found me sitting in his chair, my nails digging into my knees. I was forcing myself to sit there—that was my seat, before he came—forcing myself to sit and stare at the fire the way I used to. But I kept seeing him and everything was wrong, so _twisted_ and nothing looked the way it used to... it was horrible. And then she saw my arm, where I'd tried to burn off the mark." He paused, then cleared his throat. "I was here within the day."

Harry felt a shudder of fear go down his spine as the blonde explained, hating the visual that he could see so clearly—Draco, sitting by himself in a dark room, his palms bleeding on the armchair he was in without any concern for it.

"It was horrible," he said again but this time, Harry could hear the waver in his voice and crushed him tighter to his chest, kissing his hairline repeatedly.

"Draco," he whispered. "Don't think about it anymore, don't you dare even _consider_ thinking about it. It's behind you—if you don't want, you never have to go back there again. Just don't cry." He wondered if he was growing weak from all this time with Draco, panicking over tears. It was just that every time he cried, he felt the unbearable urge to kiss his tears away, to wrap him up and keep him safe. He would feel things he'd never expected to feel for Draco, devotion and anger for all who had hurt him (including himself, but that was beside the point). He didn't want to dwell on those feelings and was determined not to.

"You'll protect me, won't you?" Draco asked desperately, pulling back to cup Harry's face with his hands and Harry nodded, already braced when Draco threw his arms around his neck and buried his face in his shoulder again. "I knew you'd be here for me…" The rest of his mumbling was lost and Harry just held him, his mind somewhere else.

His world really had become centered around the blonde in his arms. Devotion, honestly, was the only way to put it. He put Draco on a pedestal, caring and doing anything he could for him.

An errant thought chilled him to the bone.

Where would he be when Draco didn't need him anymore?


	8. Chapter 7

Harry sighed wearily, looking around the apartment and feeling like an intruder in his own home. He toed his shoes off—a pair of brand new sneakers he'd bought in muggle London a week or so before and stepped another foot inside, setting his bag of clothes and other necessities on the table by the door. The apartment was quite warm from his disuse of the A/C… then again, he hadn't stepped foot into the apartment in at least two weeks. The only reason he was there now was because Draco had pretty much told him to leave and give himself an afternoon off.

He frowned as he mentally shook himself, giving himself the much-needed reminder that it was his own apartment. He ran a hand through his hair and walked to the kitchen, giving the empty sink a dirty look for being so clean. Normally, it was filthy, filled with dishes, but he'd cleaned before he'd left for that first long absence, and it hadn't seen another dish since. He opened the refrigerator and winced, closing it before casting a scourgify over the whole thing. When he opened it again, it was nearly empty, all the past-the-expiration-date foodstuffs whisked away.

He felt somewhat off, being by his own in his modest little apartment. He was so used to being with Draco, nearly all hours of the day, that it was strange to be alone, even for an afternoon. He sat down at the kitchen table with a Coke, one of the few things left in the fridge, and tried not to sulk. He wondered vaguely if it made him pathetic, being so unused to being on his own.

"Harry!"

Surprised, he turned around to find Ginny standing in the kitchen entrance with wide brown eyes, half dressed in a long t-shirt that covered everything Harry really didn't want to see. "Hey, Gin." He gave her a sheepish smile. "Please tell me you didn't bring some random bloke back here?" He wasn't quite sure why _she_ was here, but he could deal with it, so long as she wasn't fucking some random guys in his apartment.

Ginny went from surprised to irritated in two seconds flat. "No, I did _not_ bring back "some random bloke" to your apartment. I've been sleeping here in your guest room since Jack proved how much of a sexist pig he really was," she snapped indignantly and Harry had a hard time not snickering at her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked in a surprisingly serious voice, ignoring that little voice in the back of his head that was making fun of him for trying to use Ginny to distract himself from thinking about Draco.

Ginny snorted and took a seat at the table. "Wanna talk about Draco?" Harry gave her a dry chuckle.

"Oh, hardy-har-har. Look who's the comedian? I ask if I can help you out, give you some time to vent, and you come back to ask if I want to talk about Draco. Why would I want to talk about Draco? The two subjects are completely unrelated." He thought he'd made a decent argument, but apparently Ginny disagreed, because she just raised an eyebrow.

"Because I'm here escaping the boyfriend I'm irritated to death with, and you're here because your own boyfriend kicked you out because you were annoying him."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, you and your rapier wit," he said sarcastically. "Draco did not kick me out and I'm not annoying him. He's being incredibly selfless, actually—he's worried that he's burdening me because I spend all my time with him."

Ginny laughed in that boisterous way of hers, making Harry cock his head at her in confusion. "Well, isn't he just the sweetest _boyfriend_ ever?" Harry got the joke and his cheeks colored to a very interesting shade of pink.

"Hey!" Harry squawked, ignoring the way Ginny snickered at him. He felt like she'd turned the tides of him and didn't like it at all. "He is not my boyfriend!"

"Just picked up on that, did you?" she chortled and he gave her a dirty look. "Seriously, Harry, you two act more like a couple than we did." She gestured vaguely between the two of them with one delicate, freckled hand.

"That's bullshit."

The youngest Weasley's raised eyebrow was back. "Is it really? Have you ever noticed the way you look at the boy? He's the center of your world. You hold doors open for him, let him hang all over you—did you notice that he merely has to hold his arms out and you'll carry him? You're always fawning over him, hugging him or holding him or touching his hair… I've seen you kiss his forehead more times than I can count in the past month. Either he's a toddler to you, or you're smitten."

"He's a friend. A friend who needs a lot of help." But Harry could see the logic in her words, and it made him rather uncomfortable. Ginny's expression was surprisingly empathetic.

"Not that much, though," she said gently. "Not anymore. I know it's not conscious—obviously—and I don't think it's _all_ you think about him… in some ways, he really is similar to a toddler to you. Which would probably be why you're squirming like I'm suggesting you take up child molestation." He blushed at her accurate description and looked away. "Don't act like I'm ruining your life by pointing it out, Harry. I'm not saying you're in love with him or anything—though you do obviously love him in _some_ way. I'm just saying… there's a possibility."

"I wouldn't ever do that to Draco, even if I were interested," he said instead of admitting the truth in her argument. "I… do you know what that would do to him, in this state?"

She leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair with a faint smile. "You're really dense, chosen one. Honestly? I think Draco would be ecstatic. Not that I know him that well; I've only been visiting on Wednesdays, but the way he looks at you… it's more than the hero-worship you think it is."

"I think you're seeing things," he muttered and Ginny just rolled her eyes, crossing her long legs and pulling the t-shirt down a bit.

"And I think you're blind," she countered. "Have you noticed how possessive he is of you? You kiss him and he glows. You hug him and he looks like the happiest person alive. You give anyone else attention and he starts raving like a loon. He called me a blood traitor at that gala a month or two back because you gave me a bloody _hug_. And since you told him you were gay, he's started paying more attention to how you act around other blokes."

Harry's face went red up to his hairline. "How did you know I told him that?" he hissed.

This time she full-out laughed, though whether it was at his ignorance or the color of his face, he wasn't sure. "You went to the bathroom a week or two ago and he whispered to me that he was even sorrier about what happened at the gala because he didn't know you were gay, and that he wasn't worried about me any more." Harry flushed. "He's adorable, really—I can see why you dote on him the way you do."

"Shut up."

Ginny laughed again and stood, stretching—and Harry looked away with a grimace, thinking to himself, _thanks_. She giggled at his expression and tugged the shirt down, leaning over to peck him on the cheek. "All right, I'm gonna go—it's been like a week, so I figure maybe Jack got the message. Take care, Harry." She left to grab her things and he thought for a moment about how much of a douche her boyfriend—oops, _fiancé_ was. He'd never liked Jack Pennington much; he was a nancy-boy aristocrat from America and the only decent thing about him was that he doted on Ginny, though he didn't quite get how much of a feminist she was as of yet.

He called out a goodbye as she left with a sour expression, damning her to at least one round of bad sex that night in his head as he tried to force his thoughts in a u-turn. Still, no matter how hard he tried, errant thoughts of Draco wouldn't leave him alone and he sighed. There was only one way he knew to distract himself—and he hadn't had the chance in several months. He owed it to himself.

Without another second's adieu, he got up and promptly locked the front door and grabbed the bag of clothes, shedding his shirt and tossing it in his laundry room (could he really be blamed for having a _nice_ , modest apartment? Laundry in public laundry mats was either asking for harassment from the public, or creepy stalkers stealing your clothes), not giving it the time of day. He'd deal with it later; he probably needed to do laundry, anyway. He hadn't touched his old clothes in a month or so and they were probably beginning to stink just from laying around dirty. The clothes he wore day-in-and-day-out were normally washed at the hospital with the scrubs, so he hadn't worried about doing laundry at home.

Really, Harry felt bad for muggles when it came to running a bath. Filling the damn thing by using the tap took ages to fill, and even then by the time it was done, the whole thing was lukewarm. A quick _aguamenti_ , a heating charm, and within a minute or so he was sinking into the water with a happy sigh.

The calm happiness didn't last for long, though, as his mind wandered back to what Ginny had said to him, then to Draco.

Harry hated himself for being unable to even enjoy a bath without worrying over the blonde—really, it was getting ridiculous. He thought about him all the time, worrying and panicking and just generally _caring_ for him. Lately, his thoughts leaned more toward his worry that Draco would regain his entire personality from before—which was probably a selfish fear in the long run—or that Draco would recover, and decide that he was through with Harry.

Harry could barely picture himself without Draco at his side. It was weird sometimes—he couldn't count how many times people (nurses, mainly) had told him that he and Draco looked beautiful together. He could understand that, actually—he, with his dark hair, strong build, and green eyes, then Draco with his white-blonde hair, grey eyes, and slender frame. No one would ever mistake the blonde for a woman, of course, but he supposed they did look good together.

 _No, Harry, bad thoughts_! He winced, getting the feeling he was playing into Ginny's hands, metaphorically speaking.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from thing about Draco. How would he make it on his own? He relied on Harry for protection, for strength—how on earth could he take care of himself after being spoiled by Harry the way he was?

An angry thought struck him—Draco was already trying to push him away—and he bristled, gritting his teeth before forcing himself to relax. He was being stupid; Draco was his own person, and he was recovering—the whole point was that he could live his own life again.

He hated the horrible feeling, like despair, that welled within him. How could he just let Draco slip through his fingers? He hated the disgusting, possessive beast inside of him when really, all he wanted was Draco's happiness—his beautiful, amazing Draco with his long legs and pale skin and silken hair.

Harry groaned in half-horror as he felt a certain part of his anatomy stir. _Damn_. He was starting to get the feeling that no matter the outcome of the whole situation, he would be well and truly fucked. No matter how he tried, though, he couldn't get the sound of Draco's voice out of his head, the dazzling smile that had his heart stopping since day one…

With a groan, he almost unwillingly reached down and wrapped a strong hand around his erection. Merlin, he was going to hate himself in the morning but as he gave his length a good jerk he couldn't bring himself to much care.

He felt so _cliché_ as he tried to reign his desires in like every in-denial man must at some point but just like every single one, he couldn't help himself from being drawn back to thoughts of those long, cream-colored legs and pink lips.

Those thoughts haunted and consumed him and without realizing what he was doing, he dug his nails into the side of the bath so hard his magic escaped enough to put much more force behind the action. His other hand paused for just a moment as he realized what had happened and watched as chips of the bath slid into the water before growling under his breath in what was dangerously close to self-hatred before jerking harder, his teeth digging into his lower lip so hard he tasted the taste of copper in his mouth.

He couldn't stop his thoughts and it almost hurt to see Draco in them everywhere. He hadn't a single passing notion that wasn't about Draco, not a single thing in his head that wasn't in some way related to the blonde.

He felt invaded by him and yet, he could feel no anger at the blonde, only at himself. Somewhere, deep down, he felt almost like he was tarnishing him just by thinking what he was.

In all actuality, his thoughts weren't so much lustful, really—he couldn't explain what it was that was making him react the way he was. Only that the mere mention of Draco would make him react in several different ways that he couldn't control. Protectiveness, adoration, perhaps even love as Ginny had said. She was probably right—he did love Draco in some way, though he couldn't say how.

A few more chips of the bath slid into the water as he fisted himself roughly, crying out in a much lower voice than he normally used as he came. He laid there in the bath for a minute or so before coming back to himself and giving the dirty water a dark look before sighing and draining it.

He took a quick shower afterwards, slipping into a pair of green boxers he may or may not have bought because of a certain blonde's recent preference for the color. It had surprised him that after he'd shown up in Draco's life, the blonde's distaste for green had performed a rather marvelous u-turn.

Growling to himself at the direction his mind had taken (once again), he pulled on a black robe an stomped from the bathroom, tossing the bag of his clothes on his dresser so quickly it knocked over a letter that had been sitting on it.

Thankful for the distraction, he raised his eyebrows at it and leaned over to pick it up because he was quite sure it hadn't been there the last time he was here. Curious, he opened it to find a certain delicate, looping handwriting taking up a good foot or so. His eyes widened as he recognized it before he smiled, sitting on the edge of his bed and he read the whole thing from start to finish without looking up once.

_Dear Harry,_

_So I'm sorry for bugging you, but I was talking with Healer Clearwater and she showed me a spell she liked from Hogwarts and I was kind of missing you, so I wanted to write you. Of course, I can't use magic myself, but she can, and she told me that if I wrote you a letter, she'd send it to you with the spell for me. I like her, she's really nice. She says she doesn't really remember me much from Hogwarts, so she never had an opinion on me, which is nice._

He couldn't help but laugh a little under his breath.

_I really missed you though, and Healer Clearwater told me that was normal since I'm so used to you being here, which makes sense, I guess. I feel bad, though, for monopolizing you, so I'm not going to ask you to come back or anything. You've only been gone for an hour, and I already can't think of what to do. It wasn't so hard, before, because all I did was sit and stare at a wall and that was completely okay. It's different now, though. I can't even draw a picture the way I used to when I was in a good mood without thinking that if I turn around to show it to you, you'll be there. It's a little weird. Healer Thompson says it's not natural to be as attached to you as I am, but he looked so doubtful as he said it that I asked what was wrong. He said that it appeared that I wouldn't get better without you, so maybe it was for the best for the time being. Honestly, I don't know what to do about the whole situation, but that's okay, because you'll help me. You always do._

_You might be wondering why Healer Thompson has been to see me. Well… Healer Clearwater might have mentioned I was acting like I was getting upset or something after you left. Like I said, I feel bad about it now because I have to get used to the idea that you do have a life outside of me… I'm sorry. I can't help worrying. I feel a bit more in touch with my memories lately, and I just get so scared that maybe you'll realize that I'm still that horrible person I was deep down and leave. I know I wasn't that horrible, but there were so many parts of me that were. I was a coward, I was weak… I hurt people for my own gain. I said almost cruel things to people you cared about, and to you. In the end, I really was no better than any of the other death eaters. They all had a reason, whether it be hope that they made it out of the war alive or for their families… I'm really no different. It scares me, thinking how close he is to the surface._

_I don't think I'll ever really be him again. I've made myself a new person… you've made me a new person. I wish it hadn't happened like it did, but hey, you take what you can get. I feel a little weird being so informal, though, which reminds me that there are parts of my old personality coming through. I guess I'll always be an aristocrat no matter the root of my personality. It's not all bad, though—Pansy keeps telling me that, because she says it 'helps me be as debonaire as I can' or some rubbish like that._

He snorted at that; it was the exact sort of thing the Parkinson would say… he might have heard her say it a time or two. She gave aristocracy far too much credit, in his opinion.

_Well, I just wanted to tell you that I'm doing okay, even though I miss having you around like crazy. You're not my best friend, Harry, you're something more than that. My savior, I guess. I know you hate being called that, and that all the healers I've talked to say that I shouldn't think of you like that because it might make me crazy in some other way that I haven't already covered, apparently. I'm sort of thinking that they don't matter, though, and that maybe you wouldn't mind being called a savior if you were my savior. I'll see you in the morning, Harry, with some treacle tarts that I had Mum make for you (she doesn't like to cook much, but her treacle tarts are the best) as a present. You might be surprised, but I was thinking the other day and I realized that we missed your birthday! I used to know it so I could brag that I was older than you by a month. I remember being so confused as to why you were gone for an hour or two a couple months ago month… of course you didn't tell me that it was your birthday dinner. You just said you went out with Ron and Hermione, so I didn't think about it. Well, I'll see you in the morning (I already said that, but I got sidetracked)._

_Draco_

He grinned, setting the letter on his nightstand. He would certainly be keeping it, he mused as he got in bed. It was early, certainly, but the sooner he slept, the sooner he woke in the morning. Draco's giving him the afternoon off was certainly thoughtful, but he was perfectly happy staying with Draco all hours of the day.

He felt a shred of guilt and forced it down. If he fell in love with Draco or not… it wouldn't matter, because the blonde needed him now. He would deal with his own feelings when he had to. For now, he would take care of Draco, help Draco—after all, that was what he was there for.

*(The next morning)*

"Harry!"

Harry laughed as the blonde latched onto him from where he'd been sitting on his bed, a wide smile on his face. "Hey, Draco. Missed me?"

The blonde laughed. "You were late! It was strange, waking up without you. I don't think I'm going to send you away again unless you _really_ need the time off." He laughed with the man who still had his arms around Harry's waist.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," he chuckled, and kissed Draco's forehead, damning himself to hell when he felt particularly happy that the blonde leaned into it. "I didn't have much fun, either." Draco's smile was brilliant and without further ado, the moved into the room to entertain themselves, ignoring the reality outside for their own small little world.


	9. Chapter 8

Harry gave himself an anxious once over in the mirror, Hermione at his side with her wand, straightening out the hem of his blazer and making sure every tiny imperfection was gone. When she was positive the bigger picture was safe, she smiled and handed him a green tie—this time to match Draco's dark green suit. He wouldn't be surprised if the blonde's own tie was in a dark shade of silver to match his own tux.

"Perfect," she announced with a smirk once he'd expertly tied it around his neck, smoothing out his collar with her slender, tanned hands. "Nicely done, I'd say. I wonder how Astoria is going with Draco…"

"Just finished, actually," came the voice of her husband, bouncing a barely one year old on his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. Harry could never quite get used to the idea of his best friend Ron, the father, no matter how much he doted on Rose. "I was just there—apparrated. It was funny, watching Draco and Astoria fight over clothes." He had an impish grin on his face that made Harry roll his eyes.

"Yes, I can imagine," Harry interjected with a grin to match his red headed friend's. "Those two could squabble over anything."

"I heard that!"

Harry's smile widened as he took in the sight of his ward—no matter how well Draco progressed, he would always consider him as such—and gave Astoria a pleased nod. She smirked from her place on Draco's arm before she let go and walked over to give Hermione a hug and Ron a kiss on the cheek. It never failed to amaze Harry that he took it with such good grace, even going so far to kiss her lightly in return.

Draco was a vision, put simply. His hair had grown out a bit again and he had one side tucked behind his ear in a way that made his high cheekbones stand out. His eyes practically glittered in a Dumbledore-reminiscent way and his smile was dazzling. Harry had guessed correctly that his tie was silver, perfectly matching both his own and Harry's tuxedos.

"Spin for me," Harry urged and Draco did so without hesitation, slowly turning without that smile leaving his face for a moment. Harry had asked him once if he by some twist of fate he asked the blonde to jump off a cliff, if he'd do it, and Draco had responded with an affirmative almost immediately. He had told him that having that sort of power of him almost frightened him and Draco had laughed, telling him not to worry because he would never do such a thing. "You look great." A bit of an understatement, but it worked, and the blonde flushed.

"Thank you." Everyone laughed before Hermione, taking her daughter from Ron, turned to smile at him.

"You do, though," she said with a wide grin. "Absolutely gorgeous." Even he had to chuckle, though unused to the compliments as he was. Harry couldn't fathom why. Draco was so stunning, it was as little confusing that he took compliments so strangely. Harry summed it up to his love of compliments being a trait that was lost in what Draco liked to call his "fall from grace", and thought no more of it.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said again and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, then baby Rose, who reached out to grab his hair with a giggle. She didn't manage to succeed, but she did amuse everyone in the room, including Draco, who just tapped her nose with the tip of his index finger. "Harry. We've been going on about me—hasn't anyone told you how handsome you look?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but accepted Draco's offered hug easily, keeping his arms around the blonde when he was done. Even a year and a half after Harry had turned up at the hospital to "save him", they were still the most cuddly people they knew—probably from sheer habit at this point, though neither of them minded. "Thanks, I guess," he allowed. "Though I don't see how, in this monkey suit."

Draco slapped his shoulder lightly, a small smile on his face. "That's exactly the kind of talk I've been admonishing you about, Mr. Potter. Have some respect for formal dress wear, especially when you're wearing it."

"You know, Drake," Astoria chucked. "I may have been hoping the vocabulary might be one of those things you got over." Draco tried not to laugh at that.

"I'm sorry, Astoria. Perhaps you can borrow a dictionary from Harry? Surely he has one around?" He looked up at he brunette, who put his hands up defensively.

"Hey, I'm not getting in the middle of this," he said immediately and Draco bit his lip, his smile widening slightly. "But if you must, I have one on the top shelf of the bookshelf over there." She snorted, shaking her head. "That's all right, too. You can be just as lost as the rest of us when Draco talks." That one earned him a flick on the nose, though Harry just laughed at him.

Harry looked around his apartment while his friends chattered, smiling to himself. In the past several months, his apartment had gone from too-neat to lived in, photos on the walls (mostly of Draco and himself), little knickknacks here or there. When Draco reached the level that he was allowed to take little field trips outside of the hospital, it was usually his apartment they went to, just basking in their own little world again—just in a different place. It was the source of plenty of jokes, mainly from Ginny—who, as he checked his magic watch that worked in a way very similar to the clock in the Burrow's entry—should have been arriving rather soon…

"Sorry I'm late!" Harry contained a chuckle, glad that his mental timer wasn't off. Ginny burst in, managing to still look somewhat graceful as she did so, not a strand of red hair out of place, her forest-green bridesmaid dress perfectly in place. "I wanted to leave early, but Tristan distracted me…"

They all groaned good-naturedly at the mentioned of Ginny's rather… hormonal… boyfriend, who had replaced Jack a number of weeks before. Harry had been surprised they'd lasted as long as they had, honestly, with Ginny's temper and Jack's ego.

"One of your best friend's weddings, and you nearly miss the port key!" Hermione chided. "Really, Gin."

Ginny laughed and came forward enough to give Harry and Draco hugs before cooing at Rose. "I don't think Pans will mind that I was almost late… ooh, I'm so excited! Have you seen Blaise yet? He apparrated over yesterday to show off the final tux check, and he looked amazing…"

They all laughed at her enthusiasm, most agreeing. Ron wrinkled his nose, being the completely straight man that he was, but he chuckled in good humor when everyone else in the room sighed appreciatively.

"And Pansy," Hermione added. "She's such a beautiful bride." Her voice was awed, and slightly jealous, though Harry succeeded in ignoring the jealousy. Ron and Hermione had married before their respective careers had taken off and the wedding had been low-budget, though lovely. Blaise and Pansy's wedding, however, was paid for in full by their families, and was possibly the most lavish event Harry would ever go to. Pansy's dress—Harry knew, he'd seen it every day for a week as she flaunted it—was the best money could buy and he could affirm that it alone had cost a small fortune.

"You're right," Draco agreed. "Pansy will be beautiful. She always was, you know." He gave them all a look that suggested that they agree, or else. Harry smiled and pressed an inconspicuous kiss into the blonde's hair.

"All right," Hermione declared after a quick glance at her own watch. "We're all probably good. Everyone ready?" They nodded and she pulled a small object—a ring—and held it out. "Come on, we haven't got all day. We've got less than a minute…"

Quickly, everyone pressed a fingertip to the cool metal and seconds later they were whirling through the air. Harry had a firm grip on Draco the entire time and when they landed he swiftly pulled the blonde into his arms to make sure he didn't crash into the ground. Harry himself landed smoothly, hopping from the air to the ground effortlessly. "You okay, Draco?" he asked as he set him down and he nodded.

"Yes, fine. I just hate those things," the blonde answered with that smile and tiny little laugh that made his heart melt.

Draco had changed quite a bit in the past year—everything had, but Draco's changes were far more drastic than anything else. His eyes were brighter, holding all of the lucidity of his previous self and none of his malice, leaving behind a happy, wonderful young man. His twentieth birthday had passed with fanfare several months previous, his small room crowded with visitors. Harry was surprised he still had room for all the gifts he'd received, though he wouldn't lie and say it didn't make him feel happy that his first gift to the blonde was still held on a pedestal by the Malfoy.

He patted Draco down, ignoring his blushing resistance, smiling when he felt the round shape of the snitch in Draco's pocket, shrunken by Harry for easy transportation without leaving an awkward lump pocking out of the pocket of his tux.

"How do I look?" he asked a bit anxiously and Harry spared no emotion in his reply, accompanied by a warm smile.

"Dashing." They both laughed almost harmoniously, Harry's lower bass and Draco's tenor. "Really, though—absolutely stunning." Normal friends wouldn't be able to say things like that to each other without seeming like they were more, but everyone knew about the status of their relationship. Every time he said something of the like, though, he would see Ginny smirk in his peripheral vision, something he didn't appreciate. Even in the year that had passed since the initial discussion that had started it all, Ginny was still the only one who knew about his feelings for Draco, and he hoped it would stay that way.

Holding an arm out to Draco with a small smile, Harry led them from the entry they'd taken the port key to, an elaborate room with high, arched ceilings and a beautiful mural on one wall. Harry had visited the building before—a castle of sorts that was at least three hundred years old—and knew his way, leading them through the hallways to the main ballroom where his friends waited.

"Harry, Draco! You made it!"

Both were surprised when a teary-eyed Parkinson crushed them both.

"Of course we did, Pans," Draco chuckled lightly, prying her arms from his person, leaving only Harry's, which he leaned into slightly. "Why wouldn't we be here? I wouldn't miss it for the world, personally." She smiled at him as she obviously tried not to cry (Harry wondered what the world had come to, Pansy being so… feminine) before she turned to Harry, who quickly agreed.

"You'd have to put me in Azkaban to keep me from attending," he said solemnly, making both his "date" for the occasion and his friend laugh. He'd been almost surprised by how close he and raven had become after Hermione's gala all those months before, though pleased—she was a wonderful friend, to the point that sometimes, when he dwelled on his previous opinions and prejudices, he felt immensely guilty for his previous view of her.

She hugged him again—another thing that had surprised him was how affectionate she was in private—and stepped back, gesturing toward her dress with a brilliant smile. "How do I look?" she asked nervously.

"Beautiful," Harry assured her. "Absolutely beautiful. You won't have to worry about a bridesmaid showing you up, for sure."

She laughed, wiping at her eye tenderly to make sure she didn't ruin her makeup. "Thanks," she chuckled. "Though I don't need bridesmaids for that when I have you two." She gave the brunette a knowing look and he rethought his earlier notion that only Ginny knew about his feelings for Draco. Pansy was pretty clever, after all.

"Well, we'll be sure to stay in the back," Draco teased and Pansy just rolled her eyes, taking his hand to squeeze it.

"Good," she agreed and all three of them laughed out loud. "I'm kidding—if you two aren't in the front row with everyone else, I'll kick your asses. Both of them, at the same time." She bit her lip, squeezing his hand again. "I'm so nervous," she confessed when both Draco and Harry gave her the look. "I just… I never thought I'd marry Blaise."

"No one did," Harry assured her and she slapped him on the shoulder, her cheeks pink. "But don't worry," he added. "You two are the perfect couple. I never pictured you two together, but no one can deny how great you are for each other." In gratitude, she took his hand as well.

"Thanks for being here, you two," she said, carefully wiping at her eyes again. "Now, go sit down. You all came at the nick of time—who set that port key, anyway? Only ten minutes until the ceremony starts!" She huffed, ushering them down the hall.

"Good luck, Pans!" Harry called as he and Draco, arms linked, walked toward the door she'd gestured towards. "Remember, you're beautiful!"

She rolled her eyes, but her face glowed in pride. "Thanks, Harry," she snorted, sounding a bit more like herself, but that smile was still giving away the mood she was in. Draco was smiling excitedly from his place on Harry's arm, blowing his friend a kiss before they went inside.

It didn't shock Harry at all that the ballroom was packed with people, all the higher tiers of society, but he felt almost smug as he passed them—he, the half-blood Harry Potter, who had grown up with muggles, would be sitting up front with her family and closest friends. Blaise stood near the altar, clearly nervous, but his eyes were too bright for him to be truly anxious about the whole affair.

He took his seat next to Narcissa and Lucius, who gave their son a little wave. Harry was surprised that he was the first "son" hugged and as Draco was getting squeezed, his hand slipping down to grasp Harry's, Lucius patted Harry on the shoulder with a fond smile. Vaguely, when he smiled back—completely happy, for maybe the second or third time in his life—he wondered if that was what it was like to have a father. Draco, next to him, was getting a hug from his father, his cheeks pink, and as the two blondes sat down again, Draco molded himself against Harry's side. As they waited for the march to start, Harry half-listened to the whispers around them, most about Draco's proximity to the brunette. He wanted to smile at their scandalous tones, but instead just leaned in and kissed Draco's hair line the same way he always did, and turned his attention toward the doors behind them as Wagner's March opened and they opened to reveal the flower girl—Pansy's younger sister Herelle—and the ring bearer—Teddy Lupin, who had only gotten his position because of Draco and Harry's urging… and partially that Pansy doted on the boy like he was her own son. Andromeda, in the row behind Harry and his friends, was tearing up as her grandson came down the aisle with a huge smile.

Next, Ginny, Daphne, and Astoria walked in their long green dresses, hair all up in similar braid buns, simple diamond necklaces around their necks. Ginny was in front because the Greengrass sisters had been determined to go together, and neither had wanted to lead the precession. The best men were supposed to come up from their seats after the bridesmaids, and with that said, Draco went up, leaving Harry sitting next to his parents with a wide smile. Next to Draco were Blaise's cousin, Marcus Flint (whose husband—Oliver Wood, surprisingly enough—was sitting in the third row on the other side of the room, a wide smile on his face), Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle. All four of them looked wonderful, even Vincent and Greg. He'd expected Greg to, but he hadn't seen Vince very much since he'd been spending a good deal of his time in Finland since the end of the war.

Next to Hermione in his own row, the only Slytherin Harry knew fairly well besides those he was close friends with, Millicent sat, her lips pressed into a tight smile. She and Pansy had gone through a particularly bad falling out several weeks before and despite being childhood friends, Millicent was cut from the ceremony. Harry didn't know the details, but he wasn't going to get into it. If Pansy had cut her, she had certainly had a good reason.

His thoughts were cut off as Pansy appeared in the large archway, a brilliant smile on her face. On her arm, her father stood with his impressive posture, a look of extreme pride on his face, and behind her, Pansy's other little sister Daniella had a hold of her train, her round face pink with a sort of pride of her own.

Harry didn't think he'd anyone look so beautiful at their wedding besides Hermione, and even she was staring with awe, her head resting on Ron's shoulder. Pansy's dress was an intricate thing, adorned with lace and trimmed with satin. He wasn't sure anyone else could have pulled it off the way she did but as it was, she looked lovely.

The entire ceremony had Harry on the edge of tears, from Draco's proud stature to Pansy's tears (which had finally welled over to the point of being uncontrollable) to Blaise's enthusiastic vows. When it was over, Blaise leaned down and captured his wife's lips with a wide grin and Pansy had thrown her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Marcus, who had always been fond of Draco, apparently, hugged the blonde with a grin of his own, and Draco laughed as the entire room cheered.

The reception was just as beautiful as the ceremony, everyone dancing, even the stuck-up aristocrats with their thousand-dollar jewelry and high heels. Draco, of course, danced with Harry despite the disapproving looks he was earning from his fellow purebloods. Neither of them cared, though, and danced—sometimes exchanging partners with the bride and groom, or with Ron and Hermione. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself so much, or the last time Draco had laughed ceaselessly the way he was then. After the reception, Harry and Draco were holding hands again, walking calmly through the garden.

"It was so beautiful," Draco gushed. "Pansy—I don't think I've ever seen her cry like that before! Blaise is a lucky man."

"Yes," Harry agreed, his smile firmly in place. "Yes, he is. I'm just glad they're happy. Everyone deserves to be happy, and Pansy deserves it a little more than everyone else, I think. Almost as much as you do." He released Draco's hand, who made a small sound of discontent at the action, but settled when Harry threw his arm over the blonde's shoulder, pulling him in close as they strolled.

"You deserve to be happy, too," Draco murmured, looking up at him through his brown-blonde lashes, his smile almost shy. "More than I do, or Pansy."

"What makes you think that?" Harry chuckled.

"You saved us all," Draco shrugged before he stopped walking, pulling Harry to a stop with him. "You saved me." Harry had a half-frightened feeling in the pit of his stomach as he saw how gloriously intense the blonde's silver-grey eyes were. "You always were the biggest part of my life," he continued. "All of that suffering… all of the pain you had to go through. No matter what you say, Harry, you really are a savior. No one else could do it, and it's not just because of some stupid scar. You…" His voice was awed. "I can't explain it. You're just this force of good and nothing could ever stand up to you correctly… not even me."

"Draco," Harry forced out, licking his dry lips, but he barely got the sound out before Draco leaned up, cupping the brunette's cheek in one soft hand before pressing their lips together. He stood there in shock, surprised and hating himself, but he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around Draco's waist in support, letting the blonde pry his lips apart and engage him in an intimate though oddly pure kiss.

When he pulled away, his skin nearly glowed, sliver eyes shimmering.

"Draco," Harry mumbled, unsure of what to say. "That's not… you do realize that's…" Draco just nodded, his hand still on Harry's face. His thumb slid over Harry's bottom lip.

"I just wanted you to know where I stand, now that I'm sane enough to do so without you holding me up," he whispered before wrapping his arms around Harry and the brunette, biting down on the lip that still tingled from Draco's touch, buried his face in his hair and they stood there in each other's arms until Pansy called them in for cake.


	10. Chapter 9

Harry really hated the monthly meetings Draco had with Healer Thompson. He knew that it was necessary, but they didn't let him in (apparently, he wasn't _that_ important, and every bit of Harry Potter magic he had couldn't get him into those meetings), and he worried. He knew it was ridiculous, being so concerned. Draco was with the healer they both trusted, and he realized nothing bad could really happen to him in there…

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. He was being completely stupid, and he knew it. It was just that when he wasn't with Draco, he felt so _weird_. He wasn't used to being alone anymore, and that on top of the worry didn't mean anything good.

"Hey, wonder boy."

He looked up with a relieved smile at Pansy Parkinson-Zabini, who still had a lovely wedding-glow, though it had been a week. Her smile was bright and she sat down on the bench outside of Healer Thompson's office next to him, handing him a coffee. "Thanks," he said, taking it with a happy sigh. "They've been in there for an hour. Normally, it's over by now."

Pansy shrugged. "Who knows what's going on in there. Maybe Draco got talking about you and lost track of time." She nudged him in the shoulder with a wide grin and he rolled his eyes, nudging back lightly. "Seriously, though, I'm sure they're fine. Lost track of the time, maybe."

He nodded, taking a swig of his coffee, gratitude clear in his eyes for the drink. "You're probably right," he shrugged, though the doubt was still clear in his eyes. "You know me well enough by now; it's just a little uncomfortable, not knowing what's going on."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was sympathetic and she rubbed his shoulder lightly. "You know just as well as I do that it'll be fine. Who knows; it could be good news." Harry was the one rolling his eyes that time, rubbing the coffee cup in his hands to try and warm his hands.

"Whatever. The last time a meeting went on this long, they'd wound up saying he needed extra therapy." Harry sounded almost petulant and shrugged, biting on his bottom lip. "I'm not really that worried, though… what could they possibly do? He's practically recovered." The thought was almost unsettling.

Harry could barely believe it had been almost a year and a half since he'd first walked down the hall below the one he was on now, nervous with a firm hand on his wand, like he didn't know what he was going to find and wanted to be prepared. He could remember that day like it had been that morning, the sickness he felt in the sick of his stomach as he watched Draco sitting on his bed with that blank expression, his eyes betraying his torment.

Even now, Harry still felt uncomfortable thinking about it. Sometimes, when he was sleeping, he would dream about it, too—how could he not? His entire relationship with Draco had begun on that point, spurred by the horror and the need and want to help. What was he supposed to do now, though? He didn't know what there was left to do. He could comb his hair for him and treat him like a child (which, proven fact, Draco liked when he was in the right mood) and he would always be there as a shoulder to cry on… someone to hold him when he needed it. He would always be there for him.

He sighed, dejected, and Pansy wrapped him in an awkward one-arm hug. "He'll be okay," she murmured. "You know he will." Harry nodded, but rubbed his face with one of his hands, the other gripping the coffee cup so tightly it gave to the pressure, almost breaking, and he was forced to ease up on it.

"How's Blaise?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject. Pansy snorted because of course she knew what he was up to, but didn't stop rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

"He's good, for the most part. A little unhappy, because his little vacation is over and he has to go back to work tomorrow." After the war, Blaise had opened a wand emporium in Ollivander's old building, using the old wizard's notes to become one of the best in his field. Harry had sent several wizards and witches who had lost their wands in the fighting to him, even before becoming friends with the lot.

Harry laughed, happy they were off the subject of Draco, and leaned back against the wall. "Of course he is." He tapped his own wand—noticing guiltily that it was in fact Draco's instead of his, must have grabbed the wrong one off of his nightstand that morning after yet another "night off"—against his temple. Pansy raised an eyebrow at it and he blushed a bit. "What?"

"Using Drake's wand, are you?" Her voice wasn't quite skeptical, but not conversational, either.

"I must have grabbed it this morning on accident."

The raised eyebrow didn't lower. "I'm a little surprised you keep it on your nightstand. Were you waiting for the day you'd be able to give it back?" His blush gave him away and she rolled her eyes, finally dropping the heavy stare. "Okay, I won't judge. It works for you?" He nodded.

"Quite well, actually. Almost as well as my own. I would suspect Draco would be able to use mine, too." He shrugged. He felt the hawthorne wood under his finger, recalling words he hadn't heard in a long while. _Rather springy…_ amusing, the wand of the great Draco Malfoy would be described in such a way. Harry chuckled to himself, but the sound wasn't quite right. His own wand… he thought about it somewhat fondly. He preferred it with its eleven inch, holly beauty, phoenix feather nested in its core, to the elder wand. The elder wand had always been cold, he'd thought, powered by death and carved from elder wood. He shuddered to think of its first owner, Antioch Peverell, and had wasted no time in ridding himself of it.

Draco's, though, was a bit different than the elder wand. Draco's wand, for one, was warm, almost like a human in his palm, and fit there nicely. It was fond of him, he could tell, and did his bidding sometimes before he even bid it. It was slim and beautiful, with a darker edge, just like its true owner.

Pansy was still watching him, her sharp gaze piercing him not unkindly. She had seen through him almost as quickly as Ginny had, more from her suspicious nature than truly knowing the way Harry worked, but she had picked up on it either way. She'd never brought it up, but he was sure she was going to, especially with what she'd _seen_ at the wedding.

"He loves you, you know," she said predictably, calmly, though her eyes still searched his face. "More than me, or Blaise, or his parents. He really _adores_ you." Harry looked away in shame.

Harry hadn't noticed until after the cake the way Pansy was looking at him, with some mixture of shock and betrayal, her eyes so clearly troubled that Blaise had kissed her softly and asked her what was wrong under his breath. Harry felt horrible, for what had happened—though he wouldn't lie and say it hadn't made him happy—and for not even noticing her watching as they spoke in the garden.

He couldn't even explain how he felt about the whole situation, really—he was happy, to hear that Draco cared for him, but after that it wasn't spoken of again. He would see regret in Draco's eyes afterwards, growing with every glance, and something like guilt underneath the grey. He had tried to kiss him once, softly, and he'd turned away before pulling Harry into a hug so tight he could barely breathe. He'd been almost afraid Draco was going to cry again when he'd trembled, but he heard the blonde take a deep breath and when he pulled away, his eyes were dry.

Harry didn't know what to think, say, or do, and figured he could leave it to Draco if he wanted their relationship to go anywhere… hopefully, when he was released sometime in the future.

"I know," he answered quietly and Pansy's eyes softened.

"Well," she sighed. "Fuck me sideways. You're just as gone as he is… I always _did_ wonder. The way you'd look at him sometimes… you really are a lost cause." Harry chuckled, sounding a little flat, even to himself. "You looked so bewildered… when he kissed you, I mean." Her voice faltered for a second. "I won't lie and say I expected it. I suppose I never realized just how deep his feelings for you ran. Even back in school, when he was so obsessed with you…" She bit her lip, trailing off, and didn't say anything else. Harry was glad; he didn't want to hear it, didn't want to relive the past or lose himself in fantasies of what _could_ be.

The door opened and he thanked god for that, but his relieved smile dropped when he saw the look of complete and utter shock on Draco's face. "Draco? What's wrong, Dragon?" The nickname had been picked up and lost sometime in the year between returning to his life and then, and made a reappearance when the blonde was upset.

Draco looked up from the floor, his grey eyes meeting green and at once, he was in Harry's arms, hiding his face and trembling. Harry held him, completely dumbfounded, surprised at what he had seen in the blonde's eyes. Anyone else would have assumed that his ward was frightened, but it wasn't fear he'd seen in Draco's eyes. It was shock… and pure _happiness_. Overwhelming joy.

"I can go," the blonde breathed into Harry's shoulder. "He told me, Harry, that I'm recovered." He pulled back and his eyes were filling with tears. "I don't have to stay here anymore, I'm free to go! We just filled out my portion of the paperwork!"

Harry knew he should be congratulating Draco, feeding his excitement, doing something, but all he could manage was a weak smile. He pulled Draco back to him, hugging the slender twenty year old tightly.

Draco wasn't afraid, but Harry was. He was terrified.

"I knew you could do it," he forced out, but Draco obviously knew something was wrong… and Pansy knew it as well, it was obvious in her dark eyes.

"You saved me," he whispered, hugging back just as tightly. "And now, you shall help me pack." Harry managed to match Draco's small laugh, taking his hand and letting the blonde lead him down stairs.

Internally, Harry wasn't quite so calm. His mind whirled, running through possible scenarios at high speed, different ways this could end. Draco could, for one, keep him as a love or friend. Or—and his heart almost physically hurt as this possibility occurred to him—Draco would push him away, because in the end, it was his decision. If Draco were to start over, re-build his life from scratch… who was Harry to object? He was only there to put the blonde back together; he certainly wasn't the glue that kept him that way. He was expendable, and he knew it.

Honestly, the thought chilled him to the bone, made him feel nearly sick. He had fallen for Draco, fallen harder than he could have imagined, and there was no way he could imagine his life without Draco. His every thought was about him—worry or plain adoration. His entire life _was_ glued together by Draco now, and he was sure that if the Malfoy left him, it would fall apart at the seams, leaving indelible scars.

"Will you pack up my books, Harry?" Draco asked him, bringing him back, if temporarily. He nodded, trying to pull Draco's wand out for a quick flick from the books to the box considerably left by a nurse sometime during the meeting without Draco seeing it. The topic of Draco's release had obviously been coming for a while, and Harry felt stupid for having not seen it.

OF course he failed in his quest and didn't realize until the last book was tucked snugly into the box, all brought in by friends once his love of reading had been restored to its former, obnoxious glory, that Draco had gone silent. His wide grey eyes were focused on the wand in Harry's grip.

"Do I get that back, when I get out of here?" he asked in a strange, half-strangled voice.

"Yes, Draco. You could have it now, if Harry wasn't using it." Pansy's voice snapped him out of it and Harry nodded at her gratefully. Draco turned to her, looking almost scared.

"But… can I really?" Harry ignored his own inner panic at the prospect of relinquishing the familiar wand in his grasp and instead performed a small charm, packing the last of Draco's belongings. As the last picture fluttered down from the wall into the only box left open, he took a deep breath and grasped the other side, holding it handle-end first to Draco.

He looked at Harry—who knew about his fears regarding using a wand, primarily becoming the selfish wizard he had once been—almost questioningly, who nodded as if to say he trusted him and the blonde took it tentatively, letting out a little sigh as it glowed its pleasure at being reunited with its master.

It almost pained him, how utterly beautiful Draco was as his eyes filled with silvery tears, spilling down his cheeks as he held his wand close. Harry almost kissed him then, but resisted. He didn't know how it would go over, and he wasn't about to be rejected again. His heart had cracked the first time, and that was enough pain for him in that department.

"I hadn't realized just how much I missed magic," he said, composing himself. He was obviously embarrassed at his show of emotion, so uncontrolled. Hidden in the pocket of his jacket, Harry's hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palm, the pain helping to control his own emotions, far more unruly than his blonde counterpart's at that point.

"It's only natural," Pansy said calmly, her eyes showing she'd noticed Harry's distress. His fear was mounting and only Draco could calm him… the blonde obviously knew he was upset; he wasn't hiding it well. Yet he didn't speak, didn't try to comfort him. He didn't try—and didn't want—to understand why that was. Perhaps he felt comforting him only to hurt him was stupid… perhaps he want to play with him, tease him a bit. He didn't know, and in truth, didn't want to. The idea of _knowing_ frightened him.

Pansy understood that, understood him, almost frighteningly well. He didn't ask how, never even attempted to figure out just how she understood him so well in a way that only his closest friends of years and years did, but he accepted both that knowledge and her help. She was almost a therapist for him in all actuality, letting him vent and letting him sort out his own thoughts which where normally, at best, horrifically jumbled. Pansy was nearly as close to him as Ginny was, or Hermione, close to both his mind and heart.

Draco held his wand, examining it—hopefully not finding the tiny scratch near the base from a particular incident involving a runaway Weasley child—damn Fleur's exuberant genes—and a garden gnome—and Pansy walked over to him, putting a warm hand on his shoulder.

"There's nothing you can do," she murmured. "He's better… he'll live his life how he chooses, even if we wish he would hang onto some things." Her brown eyes met him, sad but completely serious. He nodded, forcing himself not to wish and dream for something that may or may not come true.

If anyone had the capability to break his heart, it was Draco. He only prayed he wouldn't use that power to its advantage. The blonde had complete control over him; he would _kill_ for Draco. He would jump on command, speak when told to… he would willingly submit himself as nothing but a slave if it would please Draco, thought he knew those things would not. Draco was no dark lord and had no desire to be one… and he thanked Merlin for that.

He noticed Draco had come up to them only when he felt warm, slender fingers touch his cheek lightly, grey eyes peering up at him curiously, if not a little anxiously as well. "Harry?" he asked in a way that asked without doing so outright _are you okay_?

Harry managed to smile. "Are you packed, Draco?" His eyes were dry, his posture straight, his fear held in place. He would be strong for now, because what kind of idiot would he be if he let his own silly insecurities ruin the _(remaining_ , his mind threw at him) time he had with the blonde? Draco nodded, casting a hesitant _wingardium leviosa_ and a tethering charm so the boxes would follow them. He seemed pleased when his wand did as he bid and Harry was proud of him as well, securing an arm around the blonde's waist.

They walked out and met Healer Thompson at the elevator. The man had a warm smile on his face, a hand running through his golden proud hair. He hugged Draco before they left, whose wand was held tightly in his slender hand as though he thought it would disappear, then Pansy, and finally Harry. The other two stepped into the elevator, but the doctor pulled Harry aside.

"He wouldn't be going now if it weren't for you," he reminded him quickly in a murmur. "He owes you _everything_." Violet-blue eyes met his green. "Thank you." Harry just nodded, feeling a little numb, and stepped inside the elevator, waving goodbye.

On the first floor, they stopped just inside the front door and Harry watched as Draco took in a deep breath before stepping through the door. Harry stood there for a moment longer, letting the air from the open door wash over his face and watching the first person he'd ever truly _loved_ in a romantic sense smile at his first breath of completely _free_ air, and stepped outside behind them, reminding himself that the blonde was starting his own life, and that the time had come for him to accept it.


	11. Chapter 10

Draco hated feeling the way he did. He wasn't used to feeling of guilt that bit at him every time he looked at Harry. Guilt for the kiss, guilt for his feelings… guilt for what he was going to do.

He bit his lower lip, looking around him. He was sitting on a warm leather couch, his fingers digging into its soft surface. His flat—more like a very small house—was furnished, but seemed somewhat cold. His large, beautiful bookshelves were empty, his walls decorated with the odd painting or two but otherwise bare. He wasn't used to living in such an un-lived in place, and he would have to brighten the rooms gradually.

His own room was fairly large, the largest in the flat, with a king-sized bed, two more bookshelves, and a large computer desk (he'd become fond of the muggle contraption shortly after graduation, and it was one of the few things he'd missed about life outside of St. Mungo's. His closet was a walk-in, and fully stocked with possibly more clothes than he needed. His kitchen was modern and also fully stocked, thanks to his parents.

He wasn't sure whether he was happy or not to be released now, actually. On one hand, he _loved_ his parents and he was beyond pleased to be able to see them often. His father, with his tall build and aristocratic features… the smile on his face often made Draco beam with pleasure, and his strikingly beautiful mother, blue eyes and soft blonde hair perfect, coddling him once more was welcomed. Only Harry had been there to really take care of him all those months he was locked away, and it was nice to know Harry didn't have to take care of him anymore. He hated being a burden to the brunette, truly hated it, and now he could avoid weighing him down.

He bit his lower lip, nibbling on it until it was pink, as he worried over his thoughts and what he was about to tell the man he owed so much to. He only prayed that what he was going to do would be enough to pay him back. He fidgeted, sitting on that leather sofa, itching to reach into his pocket and pull out his post prized possession… but he couldn't. He almost wanted to throw it away, yet he knew that doing so would only break his heart.

He caved and pulled out a photo out of his laughing savior, looking at it with mixed emotions. Pansy had slipped him the photo after a particularly interesting gala a month before his most recent birthday and it was worn now, the edges bent, but Harry's handsome face was still very much intact, and Draco was grateful for it. He watched, almost transfixed, as Harry laughed in a way that could always be described as 'carefree'. Draco was on his arm, laughing with him and their hands were entwined.

His palm felt cold and he clenched his fists, biting back the urge to _wish_ Harry was there already so he could just let the brunette hold him and keep him warm. He bit his lip harder.

He waited for Harry to come—he'd promised to help Draco unpack the night before and he'd been anxiously waiting for the brunette since then. His parents, who had helped bring his things to the apartment after his own under-used magic had given (he would have to practice getting it up-to-par once more), had left long ago and he was alone, waiting with a heavy heart.

His thoughts strayed back to the brunette and the guilt hit him again. He traced the line of Harry's jaw in the photo, smiling dryly.

Harry _saved_ him, spent a year at his side though he had done nothing but hurt him in the past. He could remember countless conversation, hateful words spat without thought, anger and jealousy and _want_ , all rolled up into one. He'd always _wanted_ the golden boy, and wanted to be him. He either wanted him or his life, and he could never decide—partially because of his very real petty hatred of him.

And then the war ended, his parents hiding in Paris, and that incident had happened with the fire poker from the living room in Malfoy Manor and his Dark Mark, and he'd been in St. Mungo's faster than he could blink. It wasn't a good memory for him and he almost flinched as if he thought he could escape the days of re-living his mistakes, re-living _Harry_ , thinking his name over and over again in repeat, never quite able to express what he needed.

He leaned back against the leather, the photo crinkling in his fist as he almost lost himself in those memories. He had searched, for months, for those eyes and almost despaired as the fourth month past and he hadn't seen them. The eyes he saw were either too bright or too dark or the wrong shade… but then _he_ came, knelt next to him and touched his knee with that warm hand.

He'd been thinking about him when he'd shown up, about the final battle, how other-Draco struggled against tears when his idol, his rival, had been announced dead. Only one had escaped and the tiny Draco, the one who couldn't think right or talk right, kept focusing on that tear and what it meant. Disappointment—Harry Potter was supposed to save them all. He was angry, too, at Voldemort, and he was anguished. The pain, even detached, was still overwhelming.

Then that hand had touched him, calloused fingers lightly brushing the bottom of his thigh and he had looked over in something akin to vague curiosity (what was touching him?) only to see familiar shaggy black hair and emerald eyes. Oh, how he had cried out in his mind, his hands flying out before they could be controlled. He knew only that he couldn't let those eyes get away, couldn't let the man kneeling in front of him leave, but he had to make sure—he examined his eyes, every bewildered centimeter of them, and when he'd realized that they _were_ his… he babbled, pulling him up onto the bed so he could get closer, to try and express how much he needed him.

Harry was the savior, had saved everyone… why not him? He had known even then that he was spectacularly unworthy, but when Harry had held him and promised he would save him, too… he felt like he had been touched by God. He still thought he might have been.

He loved those hands, warm and calloused as they were. They held him when he was weak, supported him as he got his strength back, and led him back to the right path when he was wrong. How could he not fall in love?

He made a small sound almost like a sob, though he didn't allow himself to cry. He really had fallen head-over-heels for Harry, though he hadn't thought it possible of himself. He'd never had anything more than a vague sexual interest for anyone before Harry, romantically, and his feelings for the brunette took even him by storm. He would do anything for Harry, would protect him with his own life, yet…

He thought back to that glorious, beautiful kiss and cringed. Considering what he was going to do, it was more like beautifully agonizing and it broke his heart. Harry was such a wonderful person, so amazing he could see why the entirety of the wizarding world had been obsessed with him. He was kind of obsessed at this point himself… and could he really be blamed?

He had to stop this before they were in too deep. He was going to ruin Harry, he just knew it—he was going to drag him down, keep him from living his own life. He forced his shaking fist to calm and he took a deep breath. If he knew Harry—and he did, better than anyone—he would be there soon, because it was nearly nine. He glanced at the clock, the sunlight glinting off of its magical surface and nodded to himself.

Behind him, the doorbell rang and he pasted a smile on his face, standing and flitting with more eagerness than he had the right to express to the door. He opened it and there Harry stood, biting his lip much like Draco had been, but his lips broke into a wide smile at the sight of the blonde before him, so gloriously handsome Draco's heart skipped a beat.

Harry opened his mouth, but said nothing for a moment. He could see the _I missed you_ on the tip of his tongue, but instead, Harry said, "Well, can I come in?" Draco laughed a bit and nodded, stepping back. He closed the door after Harry came through and let himself be enveloped in an almost too-tight hug. "Your parents did a really good job decorating the place," he commented as Draco led him to the kitchen afterward for a bit of breakfast.

Draco threw him a wide smile, unable to keep it off his face, over his shoulder, though the guilt inside was slowly making him want to curl up into a ball and wail. How could he pretend everything was all right when it wasn't? "I know, didn't she?" He emphasized the pronoun and he laughed. "Dad can't decorate, so he just conjured the house and left Mom to do everything else." Draco shrugged. "He did the hard work, so I can't blame him. Besides, he'd probably just stick some furniture that doesn't match in and call it good anyway."

They both laughed at that and Draco began to make eggs, thinking hard about the real reason Harry was there, even though he didn't know it yet. He had to take another deep breath because his hand was shaking again and forced himself to calm down. This was for the best, for Harry, he reminded himself, and pasted his smile back on when the eggs were done, smiling and handing them to Harry, who sat at his small table, taking off his jacket and slinging it over the back of the intricately carved chair.

"Thanks," he said, taking it with a grin. "I didn't even know you could cook." Draco's reply was a laugh.

"Funnily enough, I'm a fair cook, actually. It calms me down when I'm upset and I'm happy that part of my personality stayed after the breakdown." He knocked his knuckles against his temple. "It's far healthier than other things I could resort to." He gave his burn mark a knowing nod and Harry nodded in agreement.

He grabbed a yogurt cup from the fridge and sat down across from Harry, his long legs brushing the brunette's and he winced at the feeling it sent through his body.

"Draco?" Harry said, cocking his head to the side. "What's wrong? You look like you're thinking too hard about something." He managed a half-smile and shook his head, spooning yogurt into his mouth before he could splutter out something that would break Harry's heart more than he was already going to.

He knew how Harry felt about him; he had known for far longer than he'd been mentally capable of reciprocating. Before, he had merely basked in it, accepted it and enjoyed it, but eventually his fondness for the brunette took a turn he hadn't actually expected it to and in the end, it would probably break them both. The thing was… he wasn't totally sure their feelings were healthy.

Mutual, yes, and powerful, but something about it… he loved Harry more than he'd ever be able to express adequately, and he knew Harry loved him the same way. Yet, he also knew that Harry was almost obsessed with him. He couldn't lie and say that it didn't make him happy, knowing that Harry's entire world centered around him, but he also couldn't help but feel the most horrible guilt. His beloved… was putting him first, above everything. About himself, above his friends, above his family. Draco knew for a fact that Harry hadn't seen his godson, Teddy, in months, and he was pretty sure that encounter was chance as well. It had hurt Draco to see the child so delighted in seeing Harry—so delighted, because he had missed the man so dearly his hair turned black and his eyes turned green the moment he'd seen him.

They were quiet for the rest of breakfast, but their usual chatter began once they started unpacking. Harry wasn't good at being quiet for too long and coincidentally, neither was Draco, though he could remember being much more held back in that regard _before_ , though he'd also been a snide twit. They gossiped happily, Draco hurting every time he saw Harry gazing at him in that way that made him feel like he was the only beautiful thing in the world. He almost hated how Harry cherished him because it tore at him, made him feel worse, but he couldn't change his mind. This was best, for both of them. Together, they would never be able to stand up on their own. If this continued, they would fall apart.

A small voice in the back of Draco's mind told him that they would probably fall apart either way and he knew it was right… but it was better for them to be apart. He hated it, but unless he knew for a fact that Harry's feelings for him weren't because he had been completely dependent on the savior, that he had worshiped him, that he was defenseless and open and completely adoring… unless he knew that Harry's feelings for him wouldn't fade, that this was more than a fling…

He knew his feelings for Harry were real, but he couldn't speak for the brunette and he wouldn't let Harry break his heart no matter how much he loved him. When Harry's large and awkwardly graceful hands placed the last of the books on his shelves, finishing their work, he felt like it was breaking, anyway. He swallowed, and led Harry to the couch, tears welling in his eyes already.

"Harry," he murmured. "We should talk." Just like he predicted, Harry immediately went on the defensive, green eyes wary, and he bit his lip. He reached out, allowing himself one piece of comfort, and took Harry's hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb.

"Draco…" Harry said, his voice tight with what sounded like some mixture of worry and despair.

"No, Harry, hear me out," he interrupted, looking down at their hands—beautiful, a color almost like the inside of an almond and ivory—with pink cheeks as he forced himself not to cry before he even did what he was going to do. "You won't like this… and you'll probably hate me. You should hate me, and it would be better if you hated me." His voice cracked and he gave himself a firm metal shake, accompanied by a rather stern mental lecture. He looked up, meeting Harry's eyes. "You can't see me anymore."

He wanted to look away, wanted to shield himself from the most beautiful, horrible thing he'd ever seen—Harry Potter's evergreen eyes filling with tears. "I—"

But he interrupted again, holding his free hand out, gripping Harry's with the other one almost dangerously tight. "You have no idea how much this will hurt me, and you, but it's for the best," he managed to force out before one dangerous tear slid down his cheek. "You can't live your life with me around; you'll never be able to. I love you so much, Harry—" He heard a small intake of breath and cursed himself for that small slip. "—but you have to believe me." He was crying hard now, Harry silently letting tear after tear slide down his own cheeks. His hand gripped Draco's harder.

"It's better," he said in a quiet voice after a long while. "For you?" He felt selfish, but he knew where Harry was going with it. He knew what he had to do.

"Yes," he replied and he felt that final bit inside of him crack and shatter. "Yes, it's what I need. I need to take a step away from you, to learn how to stand on my own two feet." He managed a teary smile. "Harry, you are the most wonderful person I know," he whispered, reaching up to cup Harry's face. "And I will _always_ love you. I'm not saying that this is forever… but… I want you to live your own life. This past year and a half, you've abandoned everything for me."

Harry began to protest, but he was railroaded by Draco, who knew by the hesitation in the man's voice that he was in the right. "When was the last time you went flying? I know you love it. Even _flying_ has been put on hold for me. Your job. Your friends, and family. Your entire life…" He closed his eyes, hating the pain in Harry's eyes, those green eyes that meant the world to him.

"Draco," he said, his voice admirably steady. "Is this what you really, honestly want? Will this make you happy? Will you regret it if you give in and be with me now?"

He nodded, sobbing with abandon. He felt a warm pair of lips leave a familiar kiss on his forehead.

"I love you," Harry said, his voice wavering slightly, before he steeled it. "And I'll always do what's best for you. If this is what's best for you… I'll go." He felt those lips leave a kiss on his lips, leaving them warm while the rest of him went undeniably cold.

_I'm so sorry, Harry._

He heard the brunette leave, heard a muffled, choked sound that was obviously a sob of the savior's own, and he slid to the ground next to his couch, crying his frustration into the leather, burying his face in the seat.

That was where Blaise found him several hours later, emotionally exhausted, shortly after he'd decided to work up the will to move and pick up the pieces of his life, to try and put them in an order that he could deal with.

The first thing out of his friend's mouth—the one person he'd known since infant hood, who had looked out for him in school and calmly helped him sort through his obsession with the golden boy—was "Did he leave you? That bastard!"

Draco couldn't do anything but begin to cry again, shaking his head violently and hoarsely explaining the whole story, which had Blaise silently digging his nails into his palms as he sat next to his friend, stroking his hair.

"Draco," he murmured sadly when the blonde finished. "Why?" He'd explained why and didn't reply until his tears had once again run their course.

"I had to," he whispered, wiping at his red eyes and hugging his friend, who looked like he was either pitying Draco or pitying Harry, and Draco couldn't blame him if he was. He had viciously broken Harry's heart, even though it was what was best for him, and he deserved to pay for it. He didn't deserve Harry's sweet, self-sacrificing words. He had expected righteous anger… he almost wished for it.

Draco made him lunch, something similar to spaghetti that sounded as Italian as his friend's heritage, and they talked through the whole mess, Draco determinedly, and far more coherently, trying to make his friend see reason. He only managed to make Blaise look at him with those sympathetic black eyes and say, "You shouldn't have let him go, Draco. Harry might be the best bloke you'll find in this lifetime, and you just told him to get out of your life."

In the end, though, Blaise had grudgingly admitted he had some good points, and that he was probably right about Harry's lack of balance.

"I still think you should have found a better way to balance him out," Blaise murmured, his eyes intense, trying to make Draco see reason the same was the blonde was of him, to no avail.

"If it's meant to work out in the end," Draco answered, feeling much more secure, if not just as sad about the whole ordeal. "Then it will. I do love Harry… maybe it will work out in the end. But for now, we need to be apart. It's not like Harry will fall apart without me."

But as Blaise left, closing the door behind the man, he bit his lip and added under his breath, "I think. Merlin help me if I'm wrong."


	12. Chapter 11 and Epilogue

"It's time to get up, Harry. Do us all a favor and get out bed."

Despite the empty glare he gave the woman, Harry knew that in perspective, he should have just been glad it was Hermione who had come to rouse him as opposed to her husband, who would have yanked Harry out of bed by his feet, Ginny, who would have just yelled at him for several hours or until he moved, or Pansy, who would have calmly told him to get his "anorexic ass" out of bed before using a clever spell to drown him in said bed.

But, unfortunately for her, it was Hermione, and she was a pushover above all things. "Go away, Hermione. It's Saturday, I don't have to run into the office for anything; I'm not getting up. Just let me sleep." Not that he was sleeping, in all actuality, but she couldn't know that.

"You're not sleeping, though," she argued, her hands on her hips and he sighed. "You're brooding. Get out of bed. Now." He ignored her, pulling his sheets up over his head, likely ruffling his hair further. He didn't care; according to Pansy (who came over bi-weekly just to tell him this), he looked like he'd been through the wringer anyway. He knew she was probably right; last time he'd checked, he had these horrible purple bags under his eyes, his skin was paler than normal from his limited outside time, and though he worked out every day as a way to keep himself up to par if he was needed for something, he was constantly tired.

"I don't quite see what you're getting at, Hermione," he replied, the sound of his voice (which remained perpetually emotionless) muffled by his sheets, but he felt a pang of guilt. He could hear the worry in her voice even as she lectured him, and he knew that he was worrying not only her, but all of his friends.

When she spoke again, her voice was steeled. "Harry James Potter," she forced out through clenched teeth. "Get out of bed now, you prat. You've been moping around for the past four months, you look like hell, and if you don't get up now, I'll be forced to send your godson in here instead of making him wait for you in the living room. Did you forget that you promised Andromeda two weeks ago that you'd baby-sit? Eight sharp, you swore you'd be up so you could watch him until noon!"

Shit.

He was out of bed faster than she could shield her eyes from his silver-grey boxers (the color little more than an unfortunate side effect of his heartbreak), tugging on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans well-worn from use.

"You could have said that first, Hermione," he hissed at her, combing through his hair with his fingers and grabbing his glasses, wire frames much less round than before. "But no, you have to keep yelling at me without giving me a clear reason why!" His complaints were half-hearted, but he had a feeling from the slight relief in her eyes that her reasoning for doing so was to get him irritated. "You're the prat," he added, half mumble, but before he left he managed to give her a meager half-smile to show he was joking.

"Teddy," he called as he went into the living room, pasting a large, fake smile on his face. If there was anyone he was serious about hiding his inner turmoil from, it was his godson, nearly three with big smiles and bright brown eyes. As he spoke, those brown eyes turned green and his hair turned several shades darker. Teddy had never tried to replicate his scar and he was continuously thankful for that, but he had to admit, he was flattered that Teddy was so enamored of him. He was the father figure in the boy's life and he did what he could to take care of him.

"Hello," the child greeted him charmingly. Teddy refused to say much more than 'hello', 'mommy', and 'Harry', but it didn't stop the brunette from finding him the most adorable child he knew, and he knew plenty of kids. He held his arms out, kneeling, and the toddler stood on shaky legs, using his comfortable couch as support before waddling as quickly as he could over to him, collapsing into his arms with a fit of giggles. "Harry, park!" As he was rolling his eyes, he was reminded that 'park' was also another vocabulary favorite for his godson.

"Park, huh?" he responded, his voice still flatter than he would have liked. The boy nodded enthusiastically and he snorted, picking him up and striding toward the kitchen. "I suppose we can work something out, but first, breakfast is in order."

"Unca Harry," the toddler complained, squirming in his arms. "Ate!"

"You already ate?" he said with a raised eyebrow. "Then I guess you won't mind waiting for me to eat, too." The boy gave up with a loud, dramatic sigh and he laughed loudly, setting him in a chair at his kitchen table. "What should I have? Yogurt?"

Teddy shook his head. "Cookie!"

They both laughed that time and he pulled out a yogurt cup anyway, not hungry enough to eat much else. Honestly, had Teddy not been there (and Hermione, by extension; she would kick his ass if she caught him skipping meals) he probably wouldn't have eaten even that. He acknowledged uncomfortably how loose his pants seemed these days and brushed it off, eating his yogurt.

Hermione came in, blouse perfectly ironed, slacks immaculate. She had one eyebrow raised, her brown eyes skeptical, but she didn't say anything about his choice of food. She was probably just relieved that he was eating something. "Don't let this happen again," she murmured as she passed on her own way to the fridge. "I had your back this morning, insisting that you were in the shower when Andromeda came in. She was starting to get both angry and worried when she realized you weren't even out of bed yet." Neither of them had to be reminded of what seemed like a past life when Harry was always up at seven forty, work or no work. He blushed in chagrin, shame flushing through him.

"Thanks," he murmured back, not looking up at her while he tossed his empty yogurt into the trash. "C'mon, buddy, why don't we go find some shoes and we can go to the park?" Teddy clapped his hands together, clearly delighted.

Several hours later he found himself watching his godson play with a small red-haired girl reminiscent of a Weasley. She was a sweet little thing, who had noticed him playing in the sandbox alone and asked him to build a castle with her. Harry chuckled as Teddy, shocked, was sprayed with sand by the giggling red-head before the boy laughed out loud and showered her back.

He took in a deep breath of the cold air. Normally, he hated going out—especially in winter—and it was worse as of late, but he wouldn't lie and say he wasn't happy to be out in the cold. His internal temperature was colder than normal lately, and being out in the cold made him want to get warm. He hadn't actually experienced getting warmer in a while and even the small change from freezing to chilly was an imitation of becoming warm again, so he didn't mind dropping a few degrees more just for a little while. He wore only a winter coat, but his godson, still playing with the little redhead, was decked out—hat, mittens, boots, the whole shebang. He'd made sure of that before they'd ever left his flat, and he was keeping a careful watch on Teddy's cheeks, waiting for them to get a little too red, signaling it was time to go inside somewhere.

For now, though, he just watched with a satisfied little smile as his godson enjoyed himself. He knew that Teddy, the emotionally-sensitive kid he was, had been upset for a while because of Harry's mood and he was determined to rectify that. He would never get over Draco, but…

The mere thought of his name, that flash of blonde hair that clouded his memories, made him physically wince in pain. Their separation, though Harry knew Draco was doing it for him, was much like a hole punctured through Harry's heart. His breathing would turn shallow when he thought on it too long, his hands would clench so hard he would have little crescent shaped scabs on the inside of his palms… he looked down at some of the scars, still healing.

No, he would never get over the blonde, and he knew it well. Draco was still, and probably always would be, the most important person in his life, and he knew with utmost certainty that he would probably never see the blonde again, his Potter instinct told him that and it was rarely wrong. He would avoid him and avoid him, no matter what he said, and he would never be able to hold him or kiss him or just tell him that he loved him…

"Harry?"

Or his "Potter instinct" was nearly always wrong. He looked up in shock, the sound of that voice sending pangs of nostalgia and warmth through his body. His eyes looked up from his feet, expensive shoes and all, up over a pair of nice grey slacks and an expensive-looking wool coat to the surprised, happy grey eyes and red lips, blonde hair in perfect order as always, a blush covering ivory cheeks.

"Draco," he managed, but the sound of his name was almost choked.

A small smile turned those cherry lips upward. "Harry," he repeated, coming closer, but as he did so, he seemed to notice how horrible the Gryffindor looked and his smile died. He bit his lip, guilt in his gorgeous eyes. "You look… different."

"I look like shit," he responded, running a hand through his hair that twitched as though it longed to reach out to the blonde. "But it is what it is. I… er, how have you been?" The object of his affections was distracted, however, when he was run over by Harry's godson.

"Unca Draco!" he cried and Harry cursed himself for forgetting that they, too, were somehow distantly related as well, watching with half-interest as Teddy's features became just a bit more pointed, brown hair turning to blonde, yet the green eyes stayed.

"Hello, Teddy," he greeted the boy and Harry couldn't help but listen in awe to the voice that haunted his dreams, the voice that hadn't changed in the time they'd spent apart. Harry found his sounded much older and much more tired, yet Draco was still the perfect picture of innocent beauty. He looked back over at Harry with a hopeful expression. "You want to get coffee or something?" He nodded.

Harry and Draco walked slowly up the street to the closest coffee shop, Teddy chasing butterflies in front of them.

"So, how have you been?" he asked the blonde in a thankfully strong voice. He had been a bit worried it would wager again, flaunting just how weak he seemed to be these days. He had no desire to upset Draco and he knew that seeing his pain would do so without effort.

Draco shrugged gracefully, his grey eyes flickering to Harry every few seconds, which relieved Harry, to be honest. Draco was transparent to those who really knew him, and Harry could tell Draco had missed him. "Good, I suppose," the blonde answered. "I got a job, a few months ago, at a bookstore in Diagon Alley that opened shortly after the war. It's a beautiful building, really, just next to Madam Malkin's. Harry nodded and didn't reply. Despite his own pain, he was glad that Draco was doing all right. He had worried for a while that Draco was faring as bad as he himself was. It appeared he was easily worried, which he hadn't realized beforehand. "And you?"

Harry winced, swallowing. "I guess it's pretty obvious, huh?" he asked with a dry smile as Teddy lost the butterfly he'd been chasing and came to hold Harry's hand as they walked, the shop coming into sight. "Pansy's the one who's been telling me I look like shit all the time and... things haven't been too good lately, to be honest. I missed you." He bit his lip, managing not to clap his hand over his mouth like a child. He hadn't meant to say that last part; the last thing he wanted was to make Draco feel guilty.

He was surprised, and warmed, when a pale, slender hand sought out his own and threaded their fingers together. "I missed you, too," Draco admitted, and they stopped outside the coffee shop. With his free hand, he cupped Harry's cheek. "Far too much." Harry managed to smile. "Things haven't been good for me, either. It's difficult to stay all... together, when you're not with me."

"Have you been relapsing?" Harry asked, suddenly horrified—I should have forced him to let me stay, if only I'd known it would affect him like that-

But Draco shook his head. "Almost, but no. Sometimes I wish I had, because it really sucked to be in a right frame of mind without you." He smiled, his cheeks a bit pink, though Harry couldn't tell if it were due to the cold or embarrassment at admitting such a thing.

"Your hands are warm," Harry choked, fighting the urge to pull Draco close and never let go, but there was no guarantee that the blonde wanted him the same way.

"And yours are cold. I'm so sorry, Harry." Draco looked upset and Harry squeezed his hand gently, reassuringly. The blonde smiled again. "Forgive me?"

Harry felt just a bit warmer. He nodded. "You, of all people, should know I could never be mad at you." Draco added, his eyes betraying his relief and gratitude.

"Coffee?" the blonde prompted when neither spoke again for a moment, a hopeful smile turning his lips upward. "A cookie for Ted? I'll pay." Harry nodded and smiled- the first honest smile he'd allowed himself in too long.

Being with Draco again made the hole in his heart feel whole, let him smile and laugh again. They got talking as they ordered and sat with their coffees, filling each other in on everything the other had missed without prompt. It was so unusual and they both felt it, how odd it was to have not been there for everything. Teddy laughed and they talked and for the first time in four months, everything felt right for both of them.

For then, they skipped the heavy stuff, just catching up, legs twined under the table like they'd never parted. Harry wouldn't-couldn't- speak for Draco, but he was honestly elated just to be together again.

Draco apparently didn't want to part again, however, because he asked to go with Harry to drop Teddy off and there wasn't a chance in hell the brunette could deny him anything.

"Thank you again, Harry," Andromeda said, a wide smile on her face as she hugged the blonde. "You, too, Draco. It's good to see you two together again." Her voice was so warm, so genuinely pleased, that Draco's cheeks turned pink and Harry couldn't help sliding a bit closer to the blonde, putting an arm around his shoulders. He almost sighed in relief when Draco, as if on instinct, shuffled closer into his arms as well.

"I'm glad, too," Draco said, then he added so quietly only Harry and Andromeda could have heard, "I love Harry too much to not be." Silver-grey eyes looked up into surprised green.

They left quietly after that, Andromeda calling out her well wishes behind them, but they had far more important things to discuss.

"You love me?" Harry asked a moment or two later when they came out onto the street, the two beginning to walk aimlessly while they talked.

Draco gave him a small smile, entwining their fingers again. "Of course," he sighed. "How could I not? I worried, these past few months, whether I was doing the right thing or not…" His smile dropped for a moment. "Apparently, I wasn't. I'm sorry, Harry. I knew you were worried, knew you were hurting… but I didn't comfort you." He bit his lip, his eyes growing darker still. "In fact, I just broke your heart, because I was scared of the power I had over you, or that you only loved the Draco who needed you for everything."

Harry didn't know what to say about that, but his mouth opened before he could even think about it. "I don't—"

"I know," Draco interrupted, the smile returned, but it was almost rueful. "Believe me, I know. I made a mistake… I just loved you so much, I was frightened and insecure. I know that now." He bent his head in shame. "It was horrible without you, feeling unstable again, constantly. I couldn't stop thinking either of you or of this damn mark." He nodded toward his wrist as tears welled in his eyes. "Eventually, it got better, but you were still there everywhere I looked. I hoped to see you everywhere… you invaded my dreams." He looked up. "I'm sorry, Harry, really! Please—"

Harry nodded, his throat dry, and he realized they'd stopped walking and were just standing there in the cold. "Please take me back," he whispered. He felt horrible for pleading, for giving Draco the tortured expression he was sure he had on, but he didn't think he could handle it if he were rejected.

Instead of rejection, Draco leaned up, pressing their lips together almost desperately as a tear slid down his pink cheek. He felt those slender hands grip his arms tightly and he was sucked away. When they returned to solid ground, Harry was being pushed down onto Draco's bed, hands tearing at clothes, Draco openly crying in happiness if the large smile on his face was anything to go by.

He felt almost like he was defiling something pure, but that little voice in the back of his head that had been lecturing him for months, that voice that sounded so much like his beautiful Draco, told him that the blonde was nothing close to innocent. He was a man, in mind and body, and he was throwing himself at Harry, who would never be able to refuse.

He had a lapful of naked blonde in no time, lips devoured mercilessly. He gave as good as he got, unable to describe how much he needed him in that moment.

"Harry," Draco whispered when fingers teased his opening, lubricated quickly with saliva, swirling around the ring of muscle before slipping just the tip of one inside slowly. The blonde didn't wince or make a face; just kissed him again, squirming slightly.

Harry couldn't get enough of that silken skin underneath his hands, sitting on top of him, those warm lips on his. Silken hair, silken voice, silken skin. Draco was beautiful, completely dazzling, and Harry loved every inch of him, from the aching, flushed length trapped between them, begging for attention to the tense muscles of his back. Finger after finger, he showed him how much he loved him despite the pain his lover was experiencing, kissing every wince away and making it better.

He decided shortly thereafter that the most beautiful sound he had ever heard was the soft cry Draco elicited when Harry's curious finger had pressed into his prostate, the gland sending sharp bursts of pleasure through his body. "You are so gorgeous," he whispered against the hollow of Draco's throat, scissoring his fingers, worshiping that ivory skin.

"Ngh!" Draco moaned as Harry abused his prostate, leaving red marks up and down the column of his throat. "Harry-hn!-do it, please! F—" Harry jabbed a finger into that button before he could finish the expletive. "Harry!" Deft fingers undid the button on his jeans and pushed down his boxers, caressing his erection with that warm hand.

"Draco," he growled. "Stop now, or I will bury myself in your ass before you can blink." He was almost surprised at himself for saying such a thing to him, but Draco just groaned shakily.

"That was what I was going for," he managed to gasp out and Harry, aroused almost to the point of pain, pulled out all three fingers, replacing them with the blunt head of his erection. He pushed in, just to the point where his head was buried inside—near torture, in his opinion, to leave it there until Draco nodded and when he did he pushed in completely in relief, hoping he didn't hurt Draco too badly.

As it was, the blonde gasped loudly and Harry bit his lip, waiting for the go ahead. He wasn't necessarily "hung" (he thought he was a decent size, himself) but he was thick, and he prayed he didn't break him. "Oh, god," Draco wheezed. "So… full." He took a deep breath. "That hurt a bit," he admitted in a whisper. "Nothing too bad, though. Gimme a sec." Several deep breaths followed that.

Draco, at last, nodded again and he pulled out to the head before pushing in again, making the blonde hiss softly, clenching his jaw. Harry didn't stop, though, knowing that getting used to the movement was one of the most important things and it took only a few thrusts before Draco's little hisses became shaky breathing, which became shortly after that—after a well-aimed thrust to his prostate—gasps as the pleasure began to over-ride the pain.

Harry couldn't quite say what happened after that besides another round or so, only that it was the best hour of his entire life and not just because of the sex. The sex was only a method of getting closer, and that was the most important thing. They just wanted to get closer—physically, emotionally… closer and closer.

When it was over, Harry laid on his back, his hand carding through the hair of the blonde laying on his chest. After they had caught their breath, Draco had reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the snitch that laid there, playing with it absently while they both calmed.

"I love you," Harry murmured into his hair and Draco cracked another brilliant smile, leaning up to kiss him, the snitch fluttering its wings lightly in the blonde's fist.

"I love you, too," he whispered against Harry's mouth. The brunette smiled and settled, listening to Draco's breathing and the sound of the snitch's wings as he fell asleep.

**EPILOGUE**

Harry followed Draco through the door, hurrying as his husband pulled him along. "We're so late!" the blonde moaned in horror. "Our first official gala as a married couple, and we're late!"

"It'll be fine, love," Harry assured him with a roll of the eyes. "You know Hermione can wait a couple minutes for the dedication."

"I know she _can_ wait," he snapped, his eyes betraying how _not_ angry he was. "I just didn't want her to have to. We're married, we should have made an entrance, right on the dot. The night is dedicated to us, after all!"

Harry rolled his eyes again, impatient. He wasn't going to listen to the blonde complain for the twenty minutes it took to get there, oh, no—he didn't care if Draco didn't want to mess his hair up or not, they were aparating.

He did and when they landed Draco cursed him thoroughly, smoothing his barely-ruffled hair as they dashed in. "I'M HERE!" he cried as they burst in, Harry behind him looking a bit surprised at his outburst, but everyone at the gala wasn't as shocked.

"Of course you are," Pansy said with a roll of the eyes, her youngest little girl, a two year old, bouncing on her hip. "Always have to make an entrance, don't you?" Next to her, Blaise laughed and on stage, obviously giving the customary speech, Hermione chuckled into the microphone.

"Well, our guests of honor are here now, so I suppose I can skip the rest and go straight to the dedication," she teased with a wink toward the blushing blonde. "I'd like to introduce, for the first time ever, Mr. and… Mr.—" Everyone burst out into laughter at that, including the two honeymooners. "Harry and Draco Potter!"

The room burst into applause and with an embarrassed chuckle, Draco let Harry pull him in for a kiss.


End file.
